


Unfinished Business

by kcstories



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Canon Divergence, Getting Together, M/M, Mystery, Romance, epilogue kids, nextgenbigbang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-13
Updated: 2010-01-13
Packaged: 2017-10-06 05:57:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kcstories/pseuds/kcstories
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scorpius is found unconscious in the dungeons. A worried Draco comes to Hogwarts, DADA Professor Harry Potter tries to figure out what happened, and Hugo, Rose, Albus and Lily do some secret investigating of their own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unfinished Business

**Author's Note:**

> **A/N:** Written for the first nextgenbigbang at LJ.  
> **Disclaimer:** The Potterverse is JKR's, not mine. This was written for fun, not profit.  
> **Pairings:** Harry/Draco (past Harry/Ginny, past Draco/Astoria, mention of Viktor/Ginny.)  
> **Warnings:** Set post-epilogue but not exactly epilogue compliant. A bit of fluff and flangst.

Scorpius takes a deep, bracing breath before he rounds the corner. 

He hates this part of the dungeons with a fiery passion, and has done so ever since he first set foot in it, entirely by accident, just over two years ago.

It was on an odd sort of night where nothing seemed quite regular. His usually comfortable mattress was too lumpy, the normally soft pillows under his head were hard as a rock, and it was impossible to catch a wink of sleep, his mind still reeling from the unsurprising but still shattering news of his parents' impending divorce settlement. 

After a good hour of tossing and turning, he decided to go for a stroll, hoping it might take his mind off things. He usually felt better after a walk or a bit of flying, though the latter was hardly an option in the dead of night. 

Detention wasn't something he considered himself able to afford. Maintaining his immaculate academic record meant too much to him; that, and trying to live up to his grandfather's high expectations.

So, as carefully as he could, Scorpius sneaked out of his Prefect room, intent on going to the lake. The presence of water always had a calming effect on him, as did the endless starry sky that hung over Hogwarts on a clear night, no matter what season. 

Halfway down the corridor, however, Scorpius' plans were abruptly thwarted. The sound of approaching footsteps followed by a shrill and very distinctive "Meow" stopped him dead in his tracks.

Scorpius held his breath. _Bugger_; this truly didn't look good. Perhaps he'd still get that dreaded attention, after all, if Filch were to catch him here. 

It was baffling, really. Argus Filch, despite being over a hundred years old, was still as sharp as a razor, and the same could also be said for that wretched cat of his. Why Mrs. Norris, that crafty little hell-spawn in scruffy feline guise, was still amongst the living was a mystery to everyone, including Scorpius, though he suspected it had to be one of those 'heaven doesn't want her, and hell's afraid she might take over' type situations. 

Whichever the case, Scorpius didn't have the time to stand around pondering on such details. He had to run, make himself scarce, before he was spotted, and punished.

So he ran and ran, down many stairs and through countless long, spindly corridors, each one darker and dustier than the last, until he finally reached a dead end and was left standing in front of a door. 

Something about it looked daunting—ominous, even—and yet... Before Scorpius mustered the sense to stop himself, his right hand reached for the brass knob and his feet strode into the room as though they had a will of their own. 

In dusty, cobweb ridden darkness, he hid for what felt like ages, though in reality, it couldn't have been more than fifteen minutes, and all the while he was vividly aware, or so he thought, of another presence, concealed or invisible, in the room with him. 

When Scorpius finally left, reassured that Filch and his partner in crime were safely out of earshot, a deep voice behind him spoke, "Next time we meet, you will be able to see me, young Malfoy."

Scorpius all but ran from the room, too frightened to even consider looking over his shoulder.

To this day, Scorpius hasn't a clue whether the voice he heard that night was real or merely a figment of his fevered imagination. Nonetheless, up until tonight, the experience has caused him to avoid these stairs as well as the corridor he has just walked into.

There have been complaints of noises heard here in the middle of the night. Professor Slughorn, Head of Slytherin House and possibly even older than Filch, instructed Scorpius to look in every nook and cranny. "It simply will not do for students to be… romping in dark corners," the man said. "We have rules about such things; not to mention, whatever would these children's parents say?"

Scorpius has a pretty good idea of how his father would react, assuming Scorpius were the type to 'romp'. Draco Malfoy, in all likelihood, would approve of such activities. The man seems to be going through something of a rebellious phase at present—one he skipped as a child, or so Narcissa claims—and he has no qualms about the whole wizarding world knowing that he prefers the company of men these days. He even encourages those articles, and the more sordid the details, the better.

No, Scorpius decides, his father wouldn't mind him getting caught up in some amorous entanglement. 

Now, his grandfather, on the other hand… 

Scorpius sneers. Yes, Lucius Malfoy would be considerably less impressed. 

The man has grand plans for his grandson, and Scorpius, who has always known on which side his bread is buttered, gladly accepts those plans without question. After all, he might just be the Malfoys' last chance at true redemption. Money alone won't get them there, no matter how liberally Lucius likes to throw it around; an orphanage here, a hospital wing there.

Deep in thought, Scorpius almost doesn't realise he's standing in front of that heavy wooden door again. 

There are no voices thus far. There is nothing around at all besides himself, and the only sound heard in the corridor is his heavily pounding heart.

Scorpius swallows thickly, places a trembling hand on the doorknob and carefully, reluctantly, pushes the door open. 

He is fully prepared for a voice, even a person, possibly a ghost, but he never expects the light that rushes towards him, bright as the midday sun on a blistering hot summer's day.

He doesn't get the chance to be surprised, however. He feels nothing and is aware of even less when he hits the ground.

All around him, darkness settles in once more. 

~*~

  
Draco swallows his remaining coffee down in one big gulp, and rises from his chair. 

Quickly, he folds the letter that arrived ten minutes ago, not caring whether he creases it in the process, and shoves it deep into his top robe pocket.

There is not a moment to waste. Scorpius has been taken ill. The boy is presently lying in a bed in Hogwarts' hospital wing, unconscious, and so far, no one has succeeded in awakening him. 

A Housemate stumbled upon him this morning in a seldom-used part of the Slytherin dungeons, where Scorpius had been doing his Prefect rounds last night.

Draco shakes his head. Not for the first time, he deeply regrets his decision of not sending his son to Durmstrang instead. The security there, or so he's been told, is much better than Hogwarts' Wards. At Durmstrang, the people in charge are far better qualified when it comes to dealing with poison, Dark Magic and personal grudges. Moreover, they actively anticipate the occurrence of bad things. Even after the war, Hogwarts' approach seems to be considerably more laid back. Draco can picture it quite vividly already.

_'It won't happen here, surely? Not again! Oh, it just did? Oops-a-daisy! Er, right then; let's see what we can salvage from the wreckage, shall we?' _

True enough, that sort of bumbling might be rather comical, another reason to point and laugh, if it didn't potentially put so many innocent lives in danger.

Draco sighs and shakes his head again, growing more exasperated by the second. Sweet Merlin, whatever might be taking that blasted elf so long? He did insist that this was urgent, did he not?

As if on cue, the rattled creature staggers into the room, two large levitating suitcases in tow. "Your luggage, Sir."

"Thank you, Tippy," Draco replies in a curt tone. "That will be all. Do make sure to cancel all my appointments, won't you? Postpone them until further notice. I will be"—he clears his throat—"indisposed for an as yet indeterminate period of time."

Draco doesn't wait to hear whether the elf has anything else to say. He hurries out of the dining room, down the majestic staircase and slams the front door shut behind him.

~*~

  
"You won't rush off anywhere now, will you, Professor?" the nurse asks, her hoarse voice bearing a frantic undertone. "I shan't be long, but there's still something else I'd like to try. Perhaps Mister Malfoy will respond more favourably to…" Her words fade as she quickly strides off in the direction of the potion supplies room. 

Harry Potter nods, mostly to himself, and with a concerned frown, studies the face of the pale boy on his sickbed. 

Technically, there is nothing he can do to help him, and when he considers it, he finds it somewhat puzzling to have been called here at all. Students who pass out are hardly the DADA teacher's concern, unless, of course, some kind of spell was cast that rendered them unconscious. 

In this case, Harry can detect nothing of the sort, however. Scorpius Malfoy's ailment, whatever it may be, must be purely medical. Perhaps the boy is suffering from severe exhaustion. He is remarkably skinny, not unlike his father at the same age, and it's not unthinkable that the stress related to his schoolwork got to be too much for him. He wouldn't be the first ambitious sixth year student to have some kind of breakdown.

Of course, that theory doesn't quite explain why he collapsed in such an unusual location. Gardenia Goyle, Gregory's daughter, found him there in somewhat shifty circumstances. 

"I was just going for my morning walk, Professor," she insisted. "I like to make a habit of that, you see, walking. They do say that daily exercise, particularly in the morning, is good for one's health, don't they?" 

Harry merely nodded, and didn't bother to question the girl any further. The reasons for her presence in that part of the castle didn't matter on the grand scale of things. Any scandal her rumoured habit of spending her nights in Ricardo Zabini's room might cause pales in comparison to poor Scorpius' current predicament.

Harry grits his teeth. Why oh why, he wonders wearily, did this have to happen to Scorpius Malfoy, of all people? Fate surely must hate him because this means, without a doubt, that Draco Malfoy will be putting in an appearance at Hogwarts soon, to check what's wrong with his beloved son. 

Harry would really prefer not to be put in the position of having to deal with Draco Malfoy. The few—_very few, thank the gods_—confrontations they had over the course of the past couple of years were far from pleasant, and Harry will never forget his last year at Hogwarts, either, how strained and awkward everything was after the war, including his interactions with his former rival.

In view of the manner he and Malfoy had saved each other's bacon on more than one occasion, it no longer felt right or reasonable to fall back into that once familiar pattern of mutual loathing. So instead, they settled for a strange, unspoken truce which in practice meant making a point of avoiding one another whenever possible. It seemed like the best, or at least the most convenient, solution at the time, but sometimes…

He hates to admit it, if only to himself, but there still are days when Harry regrets that the two of them never became friends. It would have been a neat way to wrap things up, to close a painful chapter on a happy, hopeful note, as it were. But of course things don't work out that way in the real world, and Harry was never naïve enough to assume otherwise.

"Daddy! Daddy!" a chirpy voice bounces off the bare hospital walls. "Is it true what people are saying about Scorpius? Is he really...?" The girl's gaze falls on the pale figure lying in the bed, and instantly her excited tone turns solemn. "Oh."

"You shouldn't be here, Lily," Harry says kindly, "and you certainly shouldn't be shouting. Sick people need their rest, you know. Also, remember what I told you about calling me 'Professor' here at Hogwarts, unless we're in my personal chambers?"

"Oh." She smiles rather goofily. "Oops. I forgot. But this is all so… exciting, you see. Not the good kind of, course; the scary kind. But still… exciting."

_Yes, you always forget,_ Harry thinks, vaguely amused, but doesn't say anything more on the subject. "So what brings you here?" he asks instead. "Aside from your inquisitive nature, that is?" 

It still surprises him a little that his daughter was sorted into Ravenclaw, no other Potter or Weasley ever had been before, but the more he considers it, the more it makes sense. Besides, he'd think just as highly of her, no matter which House she'd been sorted into. He's also extremely proud of Al, even if much to Ginny's befuddlement and Ron's frequently voiced horror, the boy was placed in Slytherin without even a moment's hesitation from the Hat. 

"I just came to see if maybe we can help you," Lily says. "Albus, Hugo, Rose and I, I mean."

Harry frowns. "Help me?"

"Well, yes. Obviously," she begins, sounding suspiciously like her aunt Hermione to Harry's ears, "it has to be some kind of poison that's causing this. Someone who's still bearing a grudge against the Malfoys is trying to extract revenge… That would make sense, wouldn't it? Gosh, it might even be someone we know, someone you went to school with, or their son or daughter. Scorpius' dad was really horrid to you when you were both students here, wasn't he?"

Harry grits his teeth. So Ron has been talking about their schooldays again. He's the only one who still continues to bring up Malfoy and all those incidents Harry has long stopped thinking about. As far as Harry is concerned, the war changed everything, and looking back, maybe Draco Malfoy was as much of a victim as the rest of them. Draco Malfoy just happened to be a prize wanker, too, which made sympathising with considerably more difficult.

"I doubt anyone would still be out for revenge, love," Harry replies. "Not after all that time."

Lily's face falls. She hates being told she's wrong, no matter how solid the counter-argument may be.

"Still," he continues, "the possibility might be worth looking into if all the regular tests fail, but let's not get ahead of ourselves here, all right?"

"What sort of stuff are you testing him for anyway?" she asks with reignited enthusiasm.

"Assorted magical maladies," Harry replies, "and allergies, too. It wouldn't be the first time a student had a delayed reaction to a potions ingredient, or even to fur or feathers from a mythical creature he recently met for the first time."

"Oh," Lily says, and bites her lip. She's clearly disappointed that the mystery doesn't see quite as mysterious or intriguing as she'd hoped.

"Anyway," Harry says, "don't you have a class to go to, young lady? Visiting hours are from seven to eight o'clock, right after dinner. You can come back to visit Scorpius then, maybe bring him a book or something as well, in case he has already regained consciousness."

"All right, Da-Professor," Lily mutters, looking at the boy in the bed again. Harry knows that the two of hem are… not exactly friends, but definitely library buddies. Scorpius is a bookworm, too, perhaps even more so than Lily. Sometimes Harry thinks Scorpius would have made a fine Ravenclaw, but Malfoys probably belong in Slytherin in the same way Weasleys are synonymous for Gryffindor. Well, bar one or two exceptions. 

"I'll see you later then, dad, and if there's anything we can do..."

"I'll let you know," Harry says, and nods to emphasise his words. "Now run along. You wouldn't want to be late."

Smiling, Lily turns on her heel, and all but skips out of the room. 

A few minutes after the girl's departure, Headmistress McGonagall enters, and she's not alone.

"Potter," Draco Malfoy says in a stern, practically accusatory tone. "What on earth have they done to my son?"

~*~

  
"Allergies?" Hugo Weasley rolls his eyes. "That's a whopping load of bollocks right there, that is!"

"Language, Hugo," Rose pipes up. "You know how Mum feels about you swearing."

"Mum's not here, though, is she?" he snaps, crossing his arms in defiance. "So what's she going to say? Besides, I overheard you and Melinda talking after Quidditch practice yesterday. Some of the stuff you said could have made a sailor blush. And I' m supposed to be the crude one; I wonder where you even picked up all those expressions…"

"Oh for heaven's sake! Knock it off, both of you!" Lily cuts in sharply. "Shouldn't we be trying to help Scorpius, rather than sit here bickering amongst ourselves?"

"Yes," Albus agrees firmly. "For all we know, he could be in serious danger."

Hugo snorts demonstratively, promptly earning himself another angry glare from his sister. "Since when do you care what happens to Malfoy, Al? When he's not sitting around with his nose in a book, he's outside in the courtyard or skulking about the castle all by himself. Antisocial sod if ever I knew one. Even the other Slytherins don't like him much, from what I've heard, and that lot usually sticks together like the leeches they are." He grins stupidly, as though somewhat belatedly realising what he just said. "Er, no offence, Al. I didn't mean you, of course."

"Well, you heard wrong, then," Albus is quick to retort. Fair enough, Scorpius may not be his friend—the boy's a bit of a loner and doesn't let other people get too close—but he'll be buggered if he lets Hugo pick on him or badmouth Slytherin House in general. Albus is perfectly happy being a Slytherin, not in the least because his fellow Housemates refrain from giving him any special treatment simply because he's Harry Potter's son. After all, most of them have famous, or infamous, fathers themselves, so it's no big deal. "The other Slytherins do like him, as it happens," he continues matter-of-factly. "Maybe some of them don't understand him very well because he's a lot quieter than most, but they all respect him and like him just fine." He pauses briefly and then adds with a slight sneer, "You know, we can't all be loudmouths like you, Hugo! Some people actually stop to think before opening their gobs."

"Hey, don't you two start as well," Lily cuts in before Hugo gets the chance to start yelling; something he's just dying to do, if his scarlet face is any indication. "Honestly! We're on the same side here, aren't we? And we do want to help poor Scorpius, don't we?"

Hugo frowns. He doesn't seem awfully certain of that. He looks like he wants to leave, or punch something, or both.

"Well, the extra points wouldn't go amiss," Rose supplies. "If we're the ones to uncover the mystery behind Scorpius' illness—and I do agree that allergies sound pretty unlikely—that'll mean points for Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Slytherin, but mostly Gryffindor because there's two of us." She pauses meaningfully before giving her brother a pointed look. "You do realise Slytherin is presently in the lead, don't you?"

"That ugly, cheating Goyle cow," Hugo mutters under his breath, but soon balks under the pressure of all the evil looks that are being sent in his direction. Sighing deeply, he throws his hands up in defeat. "All right, all right! What is it you want me to do?"

~*~

  
"So," Draco Malfoy says, taking a seat in the chair next to his son's bed, "I take it, at this stage, you can't tell me anything concrete yet?"

Harry slowly shakes his head. "Um, no. Not yet. The nurse still needs to carry out a number of tests. I'm not a medical practitioner, of course…"

Malfoy raises an eyebrow in amusement. "Quite."

"But I won't be surprised if the diagnoses ends up being nothing worse than a case of severe exhaustion." Harry hesitates a moment before summoning a chair and sitting down, too. For some strange reason, standing around looking clumsy suddenly seems to be a lot more embarrassing than bumbling about in a seated position. He swallows hard and chooses his words carefully, not too certain how a civilised conversation with Malfoy is supposed to go exactly. "Er, Scorpius is very serious about his schoolwork, isn't he?"

"Well, naturally." Malfoy frowns. "Am I to understand from your remark, Potter, that someone has been questioning my son's dedication to his studies?"

"No," Harry replies quickly, determined to keep the peace. "No, of course not. I was just thinking that maybe he stretched himself a bit too thin these last few months, which might explain why he was so drained of energy that he passed out during his Prefect round."

Draco says nothing, but his frown deepens. He doesn't look at all convinced, never mind reassured. Then again, he also seems a lot less keen to hex someone into the next millennium than he did a few minutes ago, so perhaps Harry's approach has some merit after all. 

Harry takes a deep breath and soldiers on, keeping his tone as neutral as he can manage. "There isn't much you can do here at the moment, Malfoy. You might as well return home and wait there for news." 

It's a lame remark, Harry is painfully aware of that, and moreover, it's also a strangely desperate attempt to coax Malfoy into leaving. 

Unsurprisingly, it doesn't have the desired effect. "Scorpius is my only son, you realise."

Harry coughs nervously. "Yeah, I-I know that."

"So I shan't be going anywhere, least of all back to the Manor, until he has made a full recovery and is back on his feet again."

Harry doesn't know what to reply to that. He never held the Malfoys in particularly high esteem, and that's putting it rather mildly, but he does know—he has seen the evidence with his own two eyes, after all—that they value family over everything else, including money and standing. Draco would probably allow himself to be dragged to hell and back if there were even a shadow of a chance that doing so might improve the well being of the pale, thin boy currently unaware of their presence.

For a long stretch of moments, a tense silence hangs over the room. Harry has no idea what else to say to Malfoy after all these years, and it seems the feeling's mutual. _Well,_ Harry decides with a wry smile, _at least we're not ripping each other's throats out. Yet._

Finally, Malfoy speaks again. "So, why are you here?"

Harry blinks. "H-How do you mean?"

"The hospital wing hardly seems the sort of place where a DADA teacher's presence would be required, unless one of his classes went tragically wrong." He pauses meaningfully before fixing Harry with a stern gaze. "Something to that regard didn't actually occur, did it, Potter?"

Harry shakes his head and sighs. "No. Scorpius' collapsing had nothing at all to do with me, I promise. I-I guess it's just a habit they can't seem to kick…"

"A habit?" Malfoy parrots, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "What kind of habit?"

"Well, you know,"—Harry shrugs—"when something bad happens, and people can make neither heads nor tails of it, yelling for Harry Potter at the top of their voices seems to be the next logical step around here."

"Ah." Draco's smirk is almost a smile this time and Harry is surprised—in a not entirely unpleasant way, he's shocked to note—at how it lights up the man's entire face, making him look rather… attractive.

Harry mentally shakes his head. _No._ The hour is late. He's nervous, hungry and knackered, and his mind is wandering to strange places it would do well to stay far away from. 'Attractive' and 'Malfoy' don't belong in the same line of thinking, even if an objective assessment of the matter may suggest otherwise. Overall, the man has only improved with age; features that once seemed pointy now have a more chiselled appearance, and those piercing grey eyes…. 

_Gah! All right! That's quite enough of that!_

Harry resists a strong urge to kick himself. He has known for quite a while that his sexual preferences lean towards both men and women—he discovered that many years ago when he developed a brief but quite desperate crush on Oliver Wood—but nevertheless… Malfoy? God, what the hell is wrong with him? 

Predictably, a furious blush heats his face. Awkwardly, he stares down at his shoes, certain that if he as much as glances in Malfoy's direction, he'll instantly give the game away. Even after all these years, he still wears his heart on his sleeve. Once a Gryffindor…

Malfoy clears his throat, like he's about to speak again, but just then, to Harry's immense relief, the nurse returns, carrying two large vials.

"Oh. Hello, Mister Malfoy," she says pleasantly. "I wasn't aware you'd arrived." 

He gives her a polite nod, followed by a tight smile. He's a lot more worried than he's letting on, Harry realises.

"We must have a chat soon," she continues. "Discuss how to proceed. First, however, would you two mind excusing me while I carry out some more tests? The fresher these potions are, the more potent their effect will be… Yes. If you would be so kind as to wait outside, Mister Malfoy?"

"Yes," he replies, leaping up from his chair. "Of course."

"Thank you." She smiles again. "I'll inform you when I'm done." Then she turns to Harry and adds, "The Headmistress wishes to see you in her office, as soon as possible."

"Oh," Harry mutters, relieved but also slightly disappointed at being rescued from spending some more time alone with Malfoy. "All right." He, too, rises from his chair. "I guess I'd best be on my way, then, in case it's urgent…"

"Potter," Malfoy cuts in.

Reluctantly, Harry turns to face him. "Yes?"

He shoots Harry a stern look. "I shall be counting on you to do something ludicrously heroic and sort this out."

Harry swallows hard and mutters, "I'll try."

A curt nod, and Malfoy stalks out of the room, leaving a baffled Harry staring after him.

~*~

"You know, I could've sworn…" Rose Weasley starts, but is unable to continue when, suddenly, someone clamps a hand over her mouth and roughly pulls her into a narrow alcove behind a large, tatty tapestry.

She tries to struggle free, or at the very least protest vehemently against what's happening, but instantly changes her mind when she, too, hears the approaching footsteps the three other people crammed together in the small space were already aware of.

Through a tiny hole in the moth-ridden fabric, she watches the tall, thin man go past, his fists clenched as he angrily mutters something to himself. She can't understand what he's saying, his words are spoken too softly, but she decides there and then that she'd hate to be in the shoes of whoever upset him. 

"Well, bugger me," Hugo blurts out as soon as the man is safely out of earshot. "That was Draco Malfoy, wasn't it? Ponce and a half, dad says, so it's probably a good thing he didn't spot us. We'd have terrified the poor sod." The boy sniggers at his own humour. "He'd have shrieked like a girl and woken up the whole blooming castle."

"Language, Hugo; honestly!" Rose pinches her brother in the arm. "And do remember that not all girls shriek, either, thank you very much."

"Sssh!" Lily hisses, irritated. "Keep the noise down, you two! Goodness, are you trying to get us all expelled?"

Hugo rolls his eyes, but Rose gives a sheepish smile in apology. 

"Right," Lily continues. "I think the coast is clear. You know what to do, don't you, Al?" She places an encouraging hand on his shoulder. "We'll stay here and keep watch."

"Yeah, b-but why me?" he protests, looking very uncertain suddenly.

"Well, you're the only Slytherin here," Lily replies as if it's the most obvious thing in the world and he's a complete idiot for even asking, "which makes you the ideal candidate. If Slughorn happens to catch you, just say you couldn't sleep, and that you were on your way to see him to ask for some _Dreamless Sleep_ because that's what dad used to get from Professor Snape when he was having a bad night. Really…" Exasperated, she shakes her head. "I explained all that to you earlier, too, didn't I? Were you even paying attention?"

Albus nods. "Yeah, I was. Of course I was, but…."

"But what?!" she snaps, sounding far too much like her maternal grandmother for anyone's comfort.

"Slughorn will never buy that, you know. He may be getting on a bit, but he's nowhere near barmy yet."

"Well, perhaps…." She frowns. "Still, it's our only chance. Unless you have a better idea?"

Sighing, Albus looks down at his shoes. "No."

She crosses her arms. "You haven't decided to leave poor Scorpius to his terrible fate, have you?"

"No!" he replies quickly, in a shocked tone. "No, of course not. No one deserves… Well, assuming dad and the nurse are wrong about this, of course."

"They are," Rose interjects firmly. "They have to be. It's too… bizarre to be something as simple as exhaustion. I can't believe Uncle Harry doesn't see it, himself. Of course, Mum's not here to talk some sense into him. She'd have something to say about this; I know she would!"

Albus opens his mouth to defend his father, but no words come. As usual, Rose made some excellent points.

"Well, then," Lily pipes up again. "No point in standing around here for a moment longer. The sooner you get us those ingredients, the sooner we can get started on the potion, and the sooner we'll be closer to finding out what really happened to Scorpius."

"Right." Albus grits his teeth. "Later, then."

As quietly as he can, he sneaks out of the alcove, walks to the end of the corridor and gingerly descends the spiral staircase, all the while wondering when exactly his sweet kid sister turned into a pintsized drill sergeant with pigtails.

~*~

A little after 4 a.m., Draco quietly walks back into the hospital wing. 

Unable to catch a wink of sleep, he decided to return to his son's bedside. 

"Scorpius isn't in any kind of danger, Mister Malfoy," the nurse told him a few hours ago, just before he reluctantly allowed himself to be ushered out of the door. "The boy's vital signs are perfect, almost as if he's sound asleep. We merely have to find the method or means to awaken him."

That statement might have been reassuring, were it not for the fact that Draco has very little faith left in the woman's medical expertise. Perhaps, he ponders, he should consider having Scorpius transferred to St. Mungo's. Surely, one of the Healers there should be skilled enough to get to the bottom of this?

Of course, if Draco does insist on such a transfer, his ex-wife will probably hear about it, and he'd rather not have her involved at all. Astoria would only make a fuss; a loud, irritating fuss that would certainly hit the headlines, and although Draco may not have any qualms about his love life being a popular recurring theme in assorted gossip columns, he's fiercely protective of his son and regards him as off limits to Skeeter and all vultures like her.

Of course, Astoria's reaction might turn out to be even more unpleasant still. Perhaps Scorpius' present condition might give her an excuse to try and gain custody of the boy. It wouldn't be the first time she made such an attempt, if only out of spite. 

Draco smiles wryly. Potter has been lucky in that respect, too. When Ginevra Weasley decided to leg it with Viktor Krum, the divorce that followed was quite amicable; no custody battle, either, as far as he knows.

The outcome was very different from his own much-publicised marital breakdown. Astoria tried to move mountains to succeed in taking Scorpius with her to Egypt. 

Fortunately, some of the contents of the Malfoys' Gringotts' vaults were sufficient to prevent that, but there is no guarantee that she won't try again, even if she's never paid all that much attention to the boy.

Draco sighs. Scorpius probably wouldn't fit into her current lifestyle either. These days, she's a Cursebreaker, of all things, working side by side with Bill Weasley and best friends with the man's wife, going shopping at every opportunity she gets. How she'd ever find any time for Scorpius, or how the boy would even manage to get any kind of decent education in those parts, Draco doesn't even wish to contemplate, but then realism never was Astoria's strongest suit.

Regardless, the longer he can keep her in the dark about this, the better it'll be for everyone concerned.

Suppressing a yawn, he heads over to Scorpius' bed. Candlelight illuminates the boy's pale features.

Draco takes a few steps closer and his eyes widen at the sight before him. "What in Salazar's name is the meaning of this?" he yells without thinking.

In a matter of seconds, the night nurse comes rushing forward. 

She gasps when she, too, notices the large blue boils all over Scorpius' face. "I-I don't know, Mister Malfoy," she stammers, "b-but I'll go fetch my colleague. We'll carry out some more tests. Yes." She nods to herself, looking more frantic by the minute. "That's what we'll do."

Draco crosses his arms and sneers. "While you're at it, I suggest you go and drag Potter out of bed, too. I suspect his original assessment of my son's condition may have been completely wrong."

~*~

Lily shakes her head and sighs deeply. "I can't believe his reaction to our potion was so… extreme," she mutters, looking more than a little remorseful.

Hugo, on the other hand, is highly amused and makes no effort to hide it. "Yeah," he says. "It's just a damned shame we couldn't stick around. I'd love to see the expression on his old man's face when he comes back. Malfoy senior is bound to have a fit when he sees his precious son like that. Maybe he'll even end up needing medical treatment, himself, and get a sickbed of his own, right next to Scorpius'."

"Oh, for crying out loud!" Rose snaps. "This isn't funny, Hugo!"

"Um, it sort of is, though," Albus cuts in, chuckling. "Just a bit, mind, but still…" At that, both boys burst out laughing, but instantly go silent again when Lily and Rose send them matching death glares. 

"So, er," Albus ventures carefully, and lets out a nervous cough. "What does that rash mean? Did he fail or pass your test?"

Lily rolls her eyes. "It means," she replies, slamming the ancient tome in her hands shut with a loud thud, "that Scorpius wasn't poisoned."

"Right. So, um, what's next? Or do we stop looking altogether?"

"Well, obviously, we don't stop looking!" Rose all but yells. "Mum and dad never stopped looking when they couldn't solve a problem at the first try, and neither did your father, Al! Honestly…" She shakes her head. "We'll get to the bottom of this, won't we, Lils?"

Lily bites her lip. For a few tense moments, she says nothing, but then pipes up, "Yes, of course. Ghosts! How stupid of me not to have thought of that before!"

"Ghosts?" Rose parrots. "How, do you mean, ghosts?"

"Well, yes," she replies, sounding incredibly excited about her new theory, so much that she has probably already forgotten the dismal failure of the last. "Take Peeves, for instance."

"What?" Hugo blinks. "You reckon Peeves did this? I know he can be a bit of a pest, but I really don't think he'd actually harm—"

"No," Lily says quickly. "No. I don't suspect him, but it's quite plausible that somewhere deep in the dungeons… I mean, after that part of the castle collapsed, quite a few bodies were never found; they're forever buried beneath the rubble."

"Some of them are probably part of the foundations of that new wing now," Hugo blurts out, a little belatedly realising the macabre undertone of such a remark.

Rose shudders. "So," she whispers, "a ghost of a Death Eater attacked Scorpius? Is that what you're getting at?"

Lily takes a deep breath. "Perhaps. Yes. Or…" She hesitates.

"Or what?" Rose asks, literally on the edge of her seat.

"Well, seeing how Scorpius is a Malfoy, it might just as easily be…."

Rose frowns, then gasps. "No! Surely, you don't mean someone from the Order, do you? One of us?"

"Well, I…"

"Do you really believe that someone who was fighting on our parents' side would ever attack a student, an innocent, for no good reason?" 

"Yeah," Hugo cuts in. "This is taking it a bit far, innit?

"Is it?" Lily challenges. "Tell me, how much does either of you know about ghosts?"

When after thirty seconds, no answer is forthcoming, she continues, "Many spirits, especially ones who have been forced into a solitary existence by circumstances beyond their control, lose all sense of perspective and in some cases, even every shred of humanity."

"You got that from a book, didn't you?" Hugo asks with a wide grin. "It's a literal quote, I'll bet!"

Lily ignores him. "So, if some Order member whose remains were never found, or even a student who died down there but whose corpse was never discovered, has been haunting that particular corridor for decades, all alone, it's not inconceivable that the only thing on his—or her, women can get pretty vindictive, too—mind is revenge." She pauses for breath. "Either that, or this ghost doesn't know the war is over and that's why Scorpius was attacked. If he's really the spitting image of his father at that age, like everyone claims, it's easy to see how someone out of touch with reality might end up all confused."

"A vengeful spirit," Rose muses aloud. "So Scorpius was Petrified?" 

"No," Hugo replies. "He can't have been. They tested him for that. It was one of the first things they tested him for, actually. And besides, a simple _Petrificus_ would have worn off by now."

"It needn't be a simple one," Lily says. "If those rumours about Dark Arts books being stashed away in the dungeons somewhere are true, this ghost could be quite knowledgeable on the subject; he or she has had decades to read and research."

"The Ministry never came across any books," Albus interjects. He hasn't said much up to this point, but when his House is implicated in Dark Magic once again, he can no longer hold his tongue. "They searched for ages, numerous times, with different teams. Someone would have uncovered something by now, if there were anything to find. But nothing came up; not as much as a poison Quill! You're reaching, Lily!" He rises from his chair to emphasise his next words. "Perhaps we should stop now, quit while we're ahead as the saying goes, before one of us gets hurt, or before we hurt Scorpius because, really, let's face it, none of us truly knows what we're doing."

"Speak for yourself," Lily says as she, too, moves to stand. "Goodness, Al, I had no idea you frightened this easily."

He crosses his arms. "I'm not frightened, Lily, just… realistic. Simply because dad used to rush into everything without thinking doesn't mean it was a wise thing to do."

Lily shakes her head. "Whoever said anything about rushing in without thinking?" she puts to him.

Albus frowns. "So you weren't planning on..?"

"Of course not." Smiling, Lily sits down again, and Albus soon follows her example. "We're not doing anything until we find out what's down there."

"Oh," he says and feels his stomach drop. "What's down there..."

"That's right. And since you're the only Slytherin here," she says matter-of-factly, "I propose that you head down there tonight and have a look around, see if you can spot anything that might indicate… spirit activity. You know, odd draughts, strange noises, peculiar odours, or suddenly sensing a presence you can't actually see, that sort of thing…."

Albus' eyes widen. He swallows hard. "B-But I'm not nearly as good at Defence as Dad is. If I bump into some vengeful ghost, what on earth am I supposed to do?"

Before either of the girls gets the chance to speak, Hugo replies cheerfully, "Oh, I'd say that's pretty simple, mate. You do what any self-respecting Slytherin would do; you turn around sharpish and make a run for it!" 

An orange soars across the room and hits Hugo on the head. It doesn't stop his laughter. 

  
~*~

Harry points his wand, mutters another incantation, and promptly shakes his head. "No, I'm very sorry, but I still can't detect any traces of Dark magic. From what I can tell, Scorpius' condition hasn't changed at all, aside from obviously...."

"Right," Draco snaps, leaning back in his chair, "a mysterious and I must say, rather unsavoury facial rash. At least if it's itchy as well, he doesn't notice it in his present state." He crosses his arms and barks, "Just what the hell is happening to my son, Potter?"

"Er…" Harry looks as uncertain as he feels. "I-I'm not sure. I suppose this, um, outbreak of boils might support our theory that Scorpius is fighting off some allergy. The nurse said something along those lines, too, didn't she? The rash could be a sign that whatever he's allergic to is beginning to leave his system. Still, I don't see how…"

"Yes?" Draco's voice is ice.

"I can't think of anything present on Hogwarts Grounds that could cause a reaction this… bizarre, but maybe Neville…."

"Neville? You mean, Longbottom?" Draco's eyes widen. "Rowena's ruby knickers, do we really have to involve him in this?"

Harry makes a point of not allowing himself to be riled up by the outburst. "Malfoy," he says as calmly as he can possibly manage, "Neville is brilliant at Herbology, almost overqualified to be teaching it here, in fact. He's been an expert on the subject since we were students ourselves. Or don't you remember?"

Draco only sneers. All his memories regarding Longbottom are hardly of the sort that would inspire his confidence in the man; except, perhaps, that business with the snake, but that may have been pure coincidence. Even the biggest idiot is blessed with the occasional stroke of good luck.

"So," Harry continues, unfazed, "if anyone can shed a light on this, pinpoint the plant or herb or flower or, what do I know, maybe even a tree that causes blue boils in people with a particular sensitivity, it would be him."

Draco sighs. "Oh, very well. Go and get him, then, but I promise you, Potter…"

Harry swallows. "Yes?"

"If that bumbling idiot makes matters worse, I will not be responsible for my own actions."

More than a little perturbed by the fury behind Malfoy's words, Harry nods and rushes off to Gryffindor Tower.

  
~*~

The following morning, the Great Hall is abuzz with the latest gossip about Scorpius Malfoy's mysterious condition and how it continues to elude professors and nursing staff alike

"And then they went to fetch Professor Longbottom," Gardenia Goyle whispers, "but from what I heard, he just stood there like a big, fat, wobbly jelly, going 'Er...' every other minute. He obviously didn't have the slightest idea, either."

Viola Flint sniggers. "So, nothing new there, then."

Many students within earshot join in the hilarity, until Ricardo Zabini remarks in a conspiratorial tone, "Do you want to hear something really unsettling, though?"

A tense hush descends over the table. 

"What?" Gardenia finally asks, eyes wide.

Smirking, he replies, "You're all familiar with the restrictions placed on that part of the dungeons where Scorpius was found, aren't you?"

"Of course," Viola says haughtily. "It would be hard not to know about them, wouldn't it? No one's allowed anywhere near that corridor, and if they catch you down there anyway, you lose your House a hundred points and land yourself a month's worth of detention to boot"—she screws her face up in disgust—"in the forest with Filch."

Everyone listening nods, some of them with horrified expressions.

"Right," Ricardo continues. "Now, there's this rumour floating around that some students—none of ours, though; I can't imagine anyone in Slytherin harbouring such a strong death wish—are planning to not only break curfew, but also investigate"—he clears his throat in a somewhat exaggerated fashion—"the… shall we say… forbidden corridor to see if they can spot anything the staff might have overlooked."

Shocked gasps are heard all around. 

"You're joking, aren't you?" Gardenia then says. "This is some sort of trick, isn't it? Someone trying to get one of us to risk going down there so they can trap us with…" She frowns. "Well, I can't think with what exactly, not off the top of my head, but it would be the perfect Gryffindor prank, wouldn't it? Lure us deep down into the dungeons under false pretences and lock us in a room or something, so we'd have no other choice left but to scream for Filch and get detention and…" She shudders visibly. 

Viola nods thoughtfully, then waves a dismissive hand. "Yeah, Rico, pull the other one. This one has 'Weasley' written all over it."

Ricardo, however, shakes his head slowly. "I don't think it's a trick. People are being far too guarded about it, for one thing, and the only reason I even got wind of it myself"—he lowers his voice further—"is because my little sister's best friend accidentally overheard some dorm mate mention it."

Gardenia, clearly unconvinced, frowns. "Which dorm was it?"

"Ravenclaw fifth year girls'," he replies, looking quite smug. 

"Ravenclaw," Viola parrots, "so there's no Gryffindor involvement as far as you know?"

He shakes his head. "My money's on a couple of Ravenclaw overachievers desperate for their House to win the Cup this year." 

"Hm." Viola furrows her brows in thought. "Some of them are a bit… extreme in their academic ambitions, aren't they? And it must be a thorn in their side, too, that even Hufflepuff is doing better this year than they are at the moment. Still, though, a bunch of girls going down there… That's one hell of a risk!"

"Exactly," Gardenia cuts in. "Whatever's lurking in that corridor—wild magic, poison, or even… gosh, I don't know, some sort of angry spirit—if it affected Scorpius Malfoy, it'd probably affect anyone. I mean, he's a Malfoy, isn't he? He's probably been getting DADA lessons since the age of five."

Again, everyone listening nods in agreement. 

"Honestly," she continues, "going into that corridor is potential suicide. Who'd be that crazy?"

As the chatter around him continues, Albus swallows hard. The mushy cornflakes sliding down his throat might as well be razorblades. _Who'd be that crazy, indeed? _

  
~*~

Come noon, Draco Malfoy is still glued to his son's bedside. Over the course of the past few hours, the man's mood has gone all the way from foul to explosive to downright murderous. Thus, when Harry Potter walks in after his last defence class of the morning, he finds himself at the receiving end of an extremely venomous glare. 

"Yes?" Malfoy barks. "What is it you want now, Potter?"

Taken aback, Harry blinks. "Er, so there's no change for the better yet, then?"

"It would appear not," comes the snippy retort, "given how he's still lying there in the exact same way he was when you last saw him." Draco crosses his arms. "I gather from your question that you don't have any good news to share, either?"

Harry slowly shakes his head. 

"Right. So you only came up here to annoy me; how perfectly marvellous."

Harry bites his bottom lip. He didn't think Malfoy would be pleased to see him, but he wasn't expecting such a frosty reception, either. "Er, no," he ventures carefully, "I was just thinking, um…"

"What?" Draco snaps. "Spit it out, Potter!"

"Well, um, you haven't eaten anything all day, have you? So"—he clears his throat—"I was wondering, if, perhaps, you wouldn't like someone to bring you lunch? I-It's not healthy, skipping meals; or so Minerva keeps reminding me anyway. Besides, Scorpius…" Harry hesitates a beat, waiting for a sarcastic remark to stop him dead in his tracks. When none is forthcoming, he continues, "You need to keep up your strength for when Scorpius wakes up. He may need special aftercare or extra attention… or something."

In a matter of seconds, the irate expression melts from Draco's face and makes room for one of severe worry and fatigue.

"I-I could join you if you'd like," Harry suggests. "Unless you… Unless you don't want any company."

Draco's eyes grow wide with wonder. He opens his mouth to say something—anything scathing enough to get Potter to leave again—but he soon realises he's too tired to argue. Besides, that daft misguided fool is only trying to help; once a Gryffindor, always a Gryffindor. Telling him to sod off now would be like kicking a wounded puppy, and even at the height of his despair, there are certain depths to which Draco refuses to sink. 

"Lunch," he says with a solemn sigh. "Very well. Why not?"

Smiling slightly, Harry summons an elf. He's somewhat concerned that Malfoy didn't think of doing so himself, but then food is probably the last thing on his mind right now.

~*~

Silently, the two of them sit around the small table that one of the Hogwarts elves conjured for them ten minutes ago. Harry takes great care not to slurp his mushroom soup while he watches Malfoy who butters another bread roll.

This might just be the most awkward lunch of his entire life, even worse than any meal at the Dursleys' ever was, and Harry can't help but feel rather powerless; completely useless, in fact, when it comes to Scorpius. Rationally speaking—and Hermione would certainly attest to this, too, if she were around—none of what happened is his fault, of course, and yet he feels largely responsible. 

Perhaps if he were better skilled at Defence, or possessed any talent at all for casting complicated healing spells… As it is, all he can do is sit and wait and hope for a solution to present itself, somehow. 

"I'm sorry," he finally mutters, mostly to himself. "I really wish I could do something more than just... sit here."

Malfoy nods. "So do I." He shakes his head. "You know, Astoria…"

"Your wi-sorry, your ex-wife?"

"Indeed." He sighs. "Imagine the damage this might do if it were to become public knowledge."

"Damage?" Harry frowns. "How do you mean?"

He smiles wryly. "Tell me, Potter, which responsible father would allow his son to"—he vaguely gestures in the direction of the still unconscious Scorpius—"end up in such a terrible state? The press would rip me to shreds. And that blasted woman would be only too happy to assist them."

Harry blinks. What Malfoy just said doesn't make much sense. The man never seemed to care about the press before, not in the least. All those articles about his love affairs, for one thing, have been obvious proof of that. Malfoy has enough influence, and certainly more than enough money. He could have easily stopped those if he'd wanted to, but he never made the slightest effort.

As though he's been reading Harry's mind, Malfoy continues, "Having my… romantic conquests smeared all over the front page is one thing. They're irrelevant and of no consequence to Scorpius."

Harry raises a sceptical eyebrow.

"Now, don't look at me like that, Potter." Malfoy says, mildly amused. "I never bring any of my paramours to the Manor. Not a single one of them has had the privilege of being introduced to my son. They merely… how shall I put this… serve a recreational purpose."

Harry has to stop himself from flinching.

"Please…" Malfoy chuckles. "Don't tell me you've been living like a monk since your precious Weaselette left…"

Harry coughs nervously, too embarrassed to speak. Merlin, when exactly did Malfoy become so bold? 

"Oh dear. Never mind. No need to answer that, Potter. I wouldn't want you to start blushing."

As if on cue, Harry's face floods with colour. 

Draco shakes his head and grins. "All joking aside, though, Potter, my point is that I wouldn't want my ex-wife to decide she has due cause to question my parenting skills. My… liaisons have never affected Scorpius in any way. They have never played part in his home life and besides, as a Malfoy, he knows better than to pay too much attention to what the gutter press has to say."

Harry nods. He has long stopped reading, never mind getting upset at, Skeeter's thinly disguised character assassinations, himself. 

"However," Malfoy continues, "if word were to suddenly get out that my son has fallen ill, with no immediate cure in sight, not only might that news reflect badly on the Hogwarts staff—including you—but it might also bring into question my decision to send him to a British school. If Astoria had had her way all those years ago, he'd have been stashed away somewhere on mainland Europe, or worse, given how circumstances have changed, he'd probably be trailing after her in Egypt right now, with some private tutor trying to teach him Salazar knows what." He shakes his head wearily. 

Harry bites his lip. Not for the first time, it occurs to him how fortunate he is that his marriage to Ginny ended on an amicable note. She didn't mind giving him custody of their children. She'd be too busy playing professional Quidditch and travelling the world to look after them properly, and besides, she could still see them on weekends and during the holidays, whenever she wanted to.

Yes, he's been very fortunate indeed. 

"So," Malfoy speaks again, "we have to figure out how to help Scorpius, and soon. I assume I can count on the discretion of the staff here…"

"Yes," Harry is quick to assure him. "Of course."

"And I can't imagine any of the students' gossip making its way into the papers; even Skeeter knows better than that by now. However, I don't see how a transfer to St.Mungo's could be kept a secret." He gives Harry a pointed look. "Do you?"

"No," comes the muttered response. "That'd be difficult."

"So let's try to avoid having to venture down that road, shall we?"

Harry nods. "Yes, I-I'm sure things won't need to go that far. We'll figure something out." He smiles in what he hopes is an encouraging manner. "I know we will."

Hesitantly, Malfoy smiles back, but it's plain to see he's far from reassured or convinced.

~*~

It's a risky plan, both girls are perfectly aware of that, but it's also an unavoidable necessity. They have no choice. Filch must be kept distracted tonight. Not at any point, should he consider wandering down to the Slytherin dungeons and under these circumstances, he won't, of that Lily is quite certain, not when his beloved cat has gone missing. He'll be looking for Mrs. Norris in Gryffindor Tower instead, because Gryffindor Tower is where pranks usually originate.

Carefully, Lily sticks her head around the corner again and smiles, relieved, when she catches sight of Rose running towards her. 

"So," she says, once her friend is standing right in front of her. "Did you manage to get those prawns?"

Rose nods. "A whole lunchbox of them," she replies, still slightly out of breath from her mad dash to the kitchen. "Definitely enough to see her through the night."

"Brilliant! Right, then," Lily says determinedly. "Let's go." 

As quickly and as stealthily as possible, the two girls make their way to Filch's quarters. The mess of a room he occupies these days is on the ground floor, at the end of a corridor with mostly broom cupboards and other storage space. The man sleeps in the late afternoon, so that he can be sufficiently alert to patrol the castle and its vast grounds all night. A few years ago, he didn't use to need these naps, apparently, but then he is getting on a bit, just like his trusted feline companion.

Rose carefully pushes open the door. It doesn't make a sound. A pair of eyes flashes in the darkness. Unsurprisingly, Mrs. Norris has already spotted the intruders.

Rose swallows hard, and nudges Lily. Between them, Lily has always been best at dealing with animals.

Lily holds out her hand. "Here, puss," she whispers, making sure the freshly peeled prawns are well visible in her outstretched palm.

Mrs. Norris blinks twice, then hesitantly gets up, stretches languidly and saunters forwards. The girls watch with bated breath as the old cat, carefully and with an elegance they didn't expect from her, eats the prawns out of Lily's hand. Once she has devoured them all, she casts her wide yellow eyes upwards, clearly asking for more. 

"Rose," Lily whispers urgently. "Now, Rose!"

Rose nods, flicks her wand and whispers, "Stupefy!"

Lily is quick to catch Mrs. Norris in her arms, so she doesn't drop to the floor and hurt herself. Injuring or distressing the old feline certainly isn't part of the girls' plan. 

They briefly glance towards the cot at the other side of the dimly lit room. Filch is still asleep, and snoring none too quietly.

Rose gazes down at the unconscious cat, and frowns. "She's okay, isn't she?" 

Lily nods. "Of course. We'll put her in that room I prepared earlier. She'll be asleep for a little while and when she wakes up, she'll find more delicious treats to feast on. They should keep her happy and busy until we return her tonight."

"Right."

Quietly, with Mrs. Norris securely wrapped in one of Rose's oversized cardigans, the girls hurry to the Ravenclaw section. 

They don't bump into anyone on the way there. They never even see a soul. 

~*~

With a heavy heart and feet that might as well be made of solid lead—honestly, he'd rather be anywhere but here—Albus Potter turns yet another corner, before arriving in the dreaded corridor, the one where Scorpius Malfoy… 

A mortifying chill runs up and down his spine. He silently curses his stubborn pride and his shameful lack of—_No, stop it right there!_ Lack of bravery has nothing to do with the vast apprehension that's currently overwhelming him. He knows better than to think like a Gryffindor. Refusing to recklessly rush into something doesn't make him a spineless weasel. Caution is the most sensible strategy by far, whatever the circumstance. Furthermore, in theory, Albus has no qualms about taking risks, carefully calculated ones with zero possibility of failure.

The more he thinks about it, the more he realises he should have refused to be a part of this little venture. He should have told Lily to go and find Scorpius' poltergeist herself. Of course, on the other hand, he couldn't exactly do that, could he? 

For one thing, a "no" on his behalf would have proven them right, Hugo and Uncle Ron, with their charming 'all Slytherins are cowards' theory, and for another, well, he may not be as brave as his dad, but he'd never forgive himself if something ever happened to his little sister, something he could have prevented. 

So this is the only possibly way, seeing how determined Lily and Rose are to get to the bottom of all this.

Albus clenches his fists. _Damn it._ Those two will be the death of him someday, perhaps even literally.

He takes another deep, steadying breath and slowly puts one foot in front of the other, all the while listening carefully for any noise, suspicious or otherwise.

There is none, only a strange chill that seems to come seeping from between the walls, though that makes no sense because he's under the castle, practically under the lake if his sense of orientation is any good, and there are no draughts here. There can't be, logically speaking.

It must be his overactive imagination getting the better of him. Fear does strange things to a person's mind, or so he's been told.

He shivers again, and silently thanks his lucky stars that Hugo isn't around to mock him. Hugo would have a field day with this.

Gritting his teeth, he begins to walk faster, taking bigger steps towards that door; it's easily recognisable from Gardenia Goyle's description, the one she blurted out to all and sundry on the day she found Scorpius.

He swallows hard, silently reminds himself that he's Harry Potter's son—surely, that has to count for something—and places a trembling hand on the doorknob.

_On the count of… one, two, three._

Squinting his eyes tightly shut, he pushes open the door. 

For a good five minutes, he daren't look ahead. He merely stands there, rooted on the spot, as though he's waiting for something; a sound, perhaps.

The room, it soon turns out, is as deadly silent as the corridor. 

Albus exhales, briefly frowning at the white puff of breath that escapes his mouth. He wraps his cloak more tightly around his shoulders. Why, he wonders, suddenly nervous again, is it so cold here? Gardenia never mentioned that, and she would have done; she's a stickler for details, especially the sordid kind. 

He takes one step into the room, and another, and waits for his eyes to slowly adjust to the lack of light. 

Once they have, everything seems to happen at once. 

At the back of the room, by what seems to be a bookshelf, Albus spots a tall, thin silhouette with crossed arms. Green eyes flash at him, as though in challenge, but he doesn't recognise that face, not even when its features become clearer; this young man doesn't look like anyone Albus has ever seen at Hogwarts before. 

"W-Who are you?" Albus stammers, surprised he can speak at all, even if his voice sounds so unlike his own. 

"My name is of no consequence," comes the abrupt response. There is no emotion in those words; they might as well be spoken by a shadow. "Yours, however…." He looks Albus up and down, and then asks, "You're a Potter, aren't you?" This time, there is something in his tone, glee or something very much like it. 

Albus nods slowly. His throat is dry and further words fail him.

Laughter rings through the room, loudly, triumphantly. "So, at last I have managed to attract the right sort of attention. About time. One does loathe to be kept waiting."

Green eyes turn red, or at least Albus thinks they do. He doesn't stick around for a second look. 

His voice may be useless and his hands may be clammy, but at least his legs still work. Something here is definitely very wrong, and in what feels like the nick of time, barely, his Slytherin sense of self-preservation kicks in.

Albus turns around and runs.

~*~

Ten minutes later, Albus hasn't stopped running. Never looking back, not even once pausing to catch his breath, he storms up the steep, spindly staircase that leads to the Astronomy Tower. 

In his rush, and his panic, he doesn't pay any attention to his surroundings, so it's not surprising that, on his way to the room where his sister and cousins are anxiously waiting for him, he bumps straight into Professor Sinistra.

A thick book slips out of her hands and loudly crashes to the floor. 

Startled, Albus leaps back. With wide eyes, he gazes at the woman facing him. She doesn't look angry, merely puzzled. 

If this were any other time, undoubtedly he'd be quick enough to concoct some story to explain his presence here—he was conducting some research for an assignment, for instance, and forgot to keep an eye on the clock—but at the moment, he's too scared. His head is still reeling from what he saw in that room, and any streak of cunning has left him, at least for tonight.

"Mister Potter," Sinistra says, smoothing down her robe before she picks up the book; for a woman of her age, she's surprisingly fast on her feet, Albus ponders. "Care to enlighten me what brings you to this part of the castle, countless hours after curfew?" 

"I-er…" Albus swallows thickly. He seems unable to come up with anything useful. Finally, after many painful minutes, he replies, "I couldn't sleep, so I went for a walk, hoping it might clear my head. Sorry, I… broke curfew, Professor. I wasn't thinking clearly… I just needed to… be doing something." Even to his own ears, the words sound pathetic, but he supposes anything is still better than a guilty silence.

Sinistra frowns, but soon her expression softens. "Is it because of what happened to your friend Scorpius?" she asks, sounding genuinely concerned. "Is that why you couldn't sleep?"

Albus nods slowly. Scorpius isn't exactly his friend, but they do sit next to each other in Astronomy, and they are both Slytherins, so he supposes it's a logical enough assumption.

"Hm." Sinistra looks thoughtful. "I expect it wouldn't be fair to deduct points at a time of such… deep personal distress."

Albus almost lets out a relieved breath, but then she adds, "Though I do suggest we go and speak with your father. Perhaps he'll be able to help put your mind at ease."

Albus gulps. _What?!_

"And if he feels this… insomnia of yours is a matter for one of the school nurses, you can take it from there. There are some excellent potions available these days; no need to lie awake and worry."

Again, Albus finds himself rendered speechless. All he can do is to obediently follow the woman to Gryffindor Tower, silently cursing himself all the way. 

Unlike James, Albus has never been able to pull the wool over his father's eyes. It's an irritating flaw, and he already knows it's about to get him into trouble once again.

~*~

Harry shakes his head wearily before rising from his chair and pacing up and down the sitting room of his cosy living quarters. 

Professor Sinistra—even though they've become colleagues and are technically equals now, it still feels bizarre to address her with 'Aurora', even in his own head, and she doesn't mind either way, so he continues to stick to 'Professor'—woke him up twenty minutes ago. She practically shoved Albus through the door, announcing "Your son needs to have a word with you," and then abruptly left again.

And talk, Albus did, for nearly an hour.

Harry shakes his head in disbelief. It's inconceivable how those kids could have been so dumb and reckless.

No, actually, that's not entirely true. When he's completely honest with himself, he can imagine perfectly well how this might have happened. It was probably all Lily's idea, hers and Rose's. 

Harry smiles without humour. Those girls are as just as bad as their respective mothers, if not worse, and it was clear from the very start how Lily was far too intrigued by all this. Perhaps he should have paid more attention to her. He might have prevented this incident if he hadn't been so pre-occupied with Scorpius' condition, or Scorpius' father.

Harry clenches his fingers into fists. As if things weren't bad enough already, he had to go and develop inappropriate feelings for Draco _bloody_ Malfoy. Of course, Harry concedes, the man has changed quite a bit since their school days, and definitely for the better, but nonetheless…

"Dad?" Albus says, breaking the strange silence. "I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…"

Harry whips around. His kneejerk reaction is to shout, to give the boy a piece of his mind—_'sorry' doesn't quite cover it, son, just imagine everything that might have gone horribly wrong tonight; you could have got yourself killed_—but Albus' guilt-ridden face stops him dead in his tracks. The boy was only trying to help, after all, and no doubt his sister and cousins badgered him relentlessly, too. That's how it usually goes. Albus would have never done this at his own initiative; he's far too sensible, although assertiveness is definitely something he should work on. 

In response, Harry only nods. His mind made up, he walks into the bedroom where he changes from his dressing gown and pyjamas into some casual robes. 

Five minutes later, he re-enters the sitting room and heads straight for the door. "Stay here, Al," he says in a tone that leaves no room for arguments, or even questions. "Don't go anywhere, and don't let anyone in."

"A-All right," Albus stammers. 

Satisfied with the sincere look on the boy's face, Harry nods to himself, and strides into the corridor, throwing the door shut behind him. 

~*~

Lost in thought, Harry descends another flight of stairs. He considers whether he should seek the assistance of another Professor—Slughorn, for instance; the man has proven himself to be quite skilled at Defence—or alternately, get McGonagall's advice before undertaking anything.

_No,_ he decides. Whoever it was Albus saw, he seemed keen to deal with a Potter, so a Potter he shall get. There is really no need to involve anyone else.

Of course, it would have been somewhat more helpful if Albus had been able to get a closer look at the man before running off. A more precise description might have given Harry a better idea of whom they are dealing with. 

Not that he blames the boy for running, however. In truth, Harry is hugely relieved Albus got out of there as quickly as he was able. Harry would have hated for his son to have ended up in a state similar to Scorpius'. That would have been nerve-wracking, heartbreaking, not to mention that Molly Weasley would have eaten him for breakfast. She's fiercely protective of her grandchildren and harbours a particular fondness for Albus; perhaps partly because Hugo and James pick on him so much.

Harry sighs. Straightening his shoulders as he's about to enter the Slytherin dungeons, he suddenly hears a familiar voice call out behind him. 

"Potter?"

_Damn._

"Where are you going?"

Harry turns around to face a worried looking Draco Malfoy. "I, er…" 

Malfoy frowns, clearly realising something. "You're onto something, aren't you?" he challenges. "There has been a new development, correct? In connection with Scorpius' condition?"

"Erm, I, what makes you say that?" Harry says. "What are you even doing here?"

It's a feeble attempt at feigning ignorance, and predictably, it fails.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, Potter," Malfoy replies, sneering slightly, "I've witnessed you and your sidekicks prance around Hogwarts for years. You have that exact same 'on a mission' look about you as you did back then, and don't even try to deny it. Oh, and in reply to your question…" He crosses his arms. "I came to fetch another book to read aloud to my son. The nurse suggested it might help him wake up sooner. So, unlike some people I could mention, I have perfectly straightforward reasons for being here."

Harry grits his teeth. He's tempted to say he never pranced—_I suspect you may be confusing me with yourself, Malfoy_—but he realises there is no time for a lengthy, pointless argument, every second counts, so he settles for an exasperated sigh instead. "All right. Fine. Yes. I know something, or rather…."

"What?" Malfoy says, raising an eyebrow.

Harry takes a deep breath. "Albus went down there earlier, to the corridor we had sealed off. I mean, he ventured into that room where Scorpius was found, and he… saw something… an intruder, a ghost, an apparition, I have no idea which, but the point is, someone's down there, and all the evidence suggests that whoever it is, is directly linked to Scorpius' condition, if not plain responsible for it."

"I see," Malfoy replies, a dark frown marring his features. "Right, then. What are we still waiting for?" He walks to the wall and softly speaks the Slytherin password. Instantly, the doorway opens.

Gobsmacked at the man's determination and unexpected bravery, Harry blinks. "But… you…" 

"Whatever it is that's down there," Malfoy states matter-of-factly, "must be dealt with, stopped. The sooner, the better."

Harry blinks again.

Malfoy turns back to face the doorway and says, "Now come along, Potter. We're wasting precious time mucking about here."

When Harry doesn't respond straight away, Malfoy looks over his shoulder and adds in a devious tone, "You're not scared, are you Potter?"

It's not entirely clear whether or not those words are spoken in jest—one never knows with Draco Malfoy—but either way, they successfully snap Harry out of his reverie. "Of course not," he mutters. "I-I'm right behind you."

"Excellent," Malfoy says.

Harry shakes his head, and follows his companion deep into the dungeons. Somewhere along the way, it suddenly occurs to him that Malfoy was far easier to deal with when the man was still a coward.

~*~

"We are going in the right direction, aren't we?" Malfoy asks. To Harry's continued surprise, he doesn't sound the least bit scared. On the contrary, he seems driven and eager. Obviously, he wasn't joking when he said he wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible. 

"Yeah," Harry mutters. "Almost there now." He catches sight of the door that looks exactly like the one Albus described, and Gardenia before him, and swallows hard. 

Harry shudders involuntarily and braces himself, but before he can do anything, or even decide on a specific course of action, Malfoy whips out his wand and yells, "Alohomora!"

Harry's eyes widen. Yes, things have definitely changed since he was a student; the old Draco would probably have run for the hills, shouting for mummy and daddy all the way… Harry almost smiles at that image, but at the same time he's also very much aware that he should intervene soon, before Malfoy blindly rushes in and gets hurt; Harry wouldn't want that on his conscience.

"Finally," a deep and unsettlingly familiar voice inside the room says. "I had been wondering when the father would finally put in an appearance." He pauses, very briefly. "Hello, Harry; it's been a while, hasn't it?"

In his shock, Harry almost drops the wand he just pulled from his pocket when he recognises the features even a hundred years couldn't wipe from his memory, for those features appear all too frequently in his worst, most wretched nightmares. "T-Tom?" he chokes out.

"What?" Draco blinks. "You know this man, Potter?"

"Yes, Mister Potter and I have met, Mister Malfoy," the man inside the room replies, rather gleefully, before Harry even gets the chance to speak, "be it not always in the most fortunate of circumstances. And I must say, what an unexpected pleasure it is that you decided to join us, too. This will be like killing two birds with one stone, or as in this case, two traitors with one tiny spell."

"Traitors?" Frowning, Draco looks from Potter to the other man and then back again.

"Shouldn't you introduce us, Harry?" the man in the room says. "That would be the polite thing to do, wouldn't it? Didn't your Mudblood mother teach you any manners at all? Besides, your dear chum looks just a tad perturbed; it might be a good idea to enlighten him before all this confusion gives him a headache."

Harry grits his teeth. The insults aimed at his mother don't hurt him anymore, he's become immune to them after all those years, but something about the way the man just said 'dear chum' rankles. Surely, he can't know about Harry's attraction to Malfoy, can he? No. He didn't use Legilimency; Harry would have noticed that, and successfully blocked the attempt. He's not a clueless sixteen-year-old anymore. Those lessons with Snape, and later Kingsley, did pay off in the end.

"Er, Malfoy, that's Tom Riddle," Harry finally says, "You know him, well, that is to say, you knew him, as…"

"The Dark Lord," Malfoy blurts out and gulps. "B-But how in the seven hells is this even possible?"

"Horcruxes are dangerous things," Riddle replies with a not-quite smile, "especially in the hands of ignorant children."

"What?" Harry yells, his remaining befuddlement fast turning into fury.

"You thought you'd destroyed them all, didn't you?" Riddle says, his tone laced with satisfaction. "Well… perhaps you did. However, the tiara was a little trickier than the others…" He sneers again, and in that very moment, Harry is overcome with a strong urge to punch him in the face. Perhaps he should do just that, too; Riddle doesn't look any older than seventeen, nineteen maybe; He's no match for two grown men, surely?

Before Harry can do anything, however, or even utter another word, Draco Malfoy once again leaps into action. In one swift movement, the man aims his wand straight at Riddle's chest and mutters a spell Harry has never heard before. Then the next thing Harry sees is how Riddle sinks to the ground and remains there, seemingly immobile.

Harry's eyes grow impossibly wide. "Y-You vanquished him," he blurts out, unable to tear his gaze away from the motionless form lying face down on the floor. "H-How did you manage to…?"

"Vanquished?" Malfoy shakes his head. "I wish, Potter." 

Harry blinks.

"You can see it for yourself, can't you?" Draco explains. "He's still there, large as life. I merely incapacitated him for a little while. It seems it's your destiny to rid the world of this bastard"—he pauses meaningfully—"again. The spell I used is for mortal enemies and will only work if said by the right person. Apparently"—Malfoy smiles wryly—"in spite of everything, I don't hate him enough, or he me."

"I. Er…" Harry rakes a trembling hand through his eternally wild hair; old habits die hard. "B-But I don't know how that… foreign sounding spell you just said goes, I don't think I could even hope to pronounce that." He sighs.

Malfoy wrinkles his forehead in contemplation. "Take my hand," he says. It's more a command than a request. "I may have an idea."

"Y-You… What?"

"And concentrate," he continues, unfazed. 

"Concentrate? On what exactly?"

"Oh, for Salazar's sake, Potter!" Draco snaps, clearly on the verge of exasperation. "Use your imagination. Think of how much you want him gone, focus on… a life without Vol…" He takes a deep breath. "You get the general gist, don't you? And while you're thinking of how much you hate that bastard, you point your wand at him and at the same time, I'll cast the spell again." 

Harry frowns. "Do you truly reckon that'll work?"

Draco sighs. "Frankly, I haven't a clue, but it might. Ever since you… borrowed my wand, I've suspected that our magic is quite similar, compatible if you like." To his immense consternation, Harry finds himself blushing at those words, but fortunately, Malfoy doesn't notice. "And of course, there's no denying that we have another strong connection here as well."

Harry swallows hard; there's something strange in Malfoy's expression. The possibility of what it might mean sends his heart racing. "Er... Connection?" he ventures carefully.

"We both wish for Scorpius to recover," Draco states plainly, "and we want that murderous maniac gone for good this time, correct?"

"Oh. Yeah. Right. Scorpius recovered. Maniac gone. Of course, " Harry mumbles, feeling incredibly foolish. He glances to the floor, where Riddle is already getting up, eyes flaring red. _Oh, bugger._ Quickly, Harry grasps Malfoy's hand as though his very life depends on it; come to think of it, it probably does. "Draco, whatever you're planning," he whispers urgently, "do it now!"

Malfoy doesn't hesitate, not even for a second. Again, he says the spell, loudly this time, and Harry can feel a magical surge go through him. He imagines this is what an electric shock must feel like. Harry concentrates and musters up all the hate he can find within him—hate for the person who killed his parents, stole his childhood and was directly or indirectly responsible for the loss of so many innocent lives. Harry thinks of Cedric, Sirius, Fred, Tonks, Remus… Bright green light spills from his wand, and the figure in front of him disappears in a cloud of dark, pungent smoke that vanishes as quickly as it appears.

Harry coughs. Numbly he gazes down at his left hand. It's still holding Malfoy's right, fingers digging in deep enough to almost draw blood.

"So, you've finally decided to accept my offer of friendship, have you, Potter?" Malfoy asks, with a smile that encompasses both amusement and relief; mainly relief.

"I-" Harry coughs again. He feels warm, suddenly, and the room's slightly increased temperature, he's quite certain, has nothing to do with it.

"Yes, what do you," Draco begins but then speaks no more. Without warning, Harry leans closer and kisses him on the mouth. Draco's wand clatters to the floor while their arms go around each other and the kiss deepens. Neither man notices the noise.

In fact, they only look up a good ten minutes later, guiltily leaping apart as they do, when one yell of 'Dad?', one 'Uncle Harry?' and finally, a piercingly loud 'Bloody hell!' from Hugo, who's definitely Ron's son and let there be no doubt about it, resound through the room.

Temporarily speechless, Harry and Draco stare at the youngsters, but are saved from giving any embarrassing explanations when Lily pipes up, "Um, does this mean Scorpius is all right now?"

At the mention of his son's name, Draco is instantly snapped back to the present. "I hope so," he replies. "Let's go and see, shall we?"

With that, he exits the dungeon room and strides back to the hospital wing, three teenagers and a dazed Harry Potter trailing after him.

~*~

Scorpius squints his eyes shut against the piercing bright light hovering over him. When he opens them again, slowly and carefully, he finds one of the school nurses—he thinks he remembers her name being Clara—checking his pulse before casting a diagnostic spell of some kind. 

A small beam of blue light indicates that everything is as it should be. She nods to herself, clearly chuffed with the result.

"Er, hello?" Scorpius says, his throat dry and his voice hoarse from lack of use.

"Hello to you, too," the nurse replies pleasantly. "It's wonderful to have you back with us, Mister Malfoy."

Scorpius frowns and then flinches, suddenly very much aware of the painful throbbing in his skull. "I've been away?" he mutters.

The nurse nods. She hands him a glass of water, which he guzzles down gratefully. "You were unconscious for quite a while," she begins to explain. "A Housemate of yours, Miss Goyle, found you in the dungeons, motionless on the floor. You'd been doing your Prefect rounds the night before, and it seems you never made it back to your dorm."

"Oh." Scorpius frowns again. "My Prefect rounds. Right." He cannot recall many details, but he does remember walking down a corridor, stopping in front of a door at the end, a door he'd seen before, a door that made him want to bolt in fear, and then… no, nothing; the rest is a complete blur. 

"How are you feeling?" the nurse asks. 

"I…" Scorpius shrugs. "All right, I guess. My head hurts something fierce, though."

"Yes." She nods thoughtfully. "That is to be expected. I'll get you something to ease the pain, and then I'll go and fetch your father."

"My father?" Scorpius mumbles, rubbing his temples. "Father's in Wiltshire, miles away, and he's awfully busy. He won't want to be disturbed."

"Oh, but I'm afraid you're quite wrong there, Scorpius," a third voice cuts in.

Both Scorpius and the nurse turn their head to face Draco Malfoy, who's standing a few feet from the door, smiling. 

Behind him, Harry Potter enters the room, soon followed by Lily Potter, Rose Weasley and an uncharacteristically hesitant Hugo Weasley who gives off the impression that he'd rather be anywhere but here. 

"W-What are you doing here, Father?" Scorpius asks, puzzled at the bizarreness of the situation, and a little concerned as well. He isn't seriously ill or in any kind of danger, is he? And what are the Weasley kids doing here? Are they somehow involved in what happened? If so, this can't possibly be good; Hugo hates his guts and has done so since the moment they first met. Scorpius forces an awkward smile.

"Well," Draco replies, as he walks closer to the bed and sits down in what has become his usual chair, "to cut a long story short, you had an extremely unfortunate run-in with"—he pauses, choosing his next words extra carefully—"a vengeful entity from the past."

"Oh," Scorpius says softly, unsure what else to say. He briefly glances towards the four people still standing by the door, shuffling their feet. To Scorpius' surprise, Hugo Weasley isn't sniggering. Come to mention it, he isn't even smiling. If anything, the little sod looks guilty. Scorpius frowns. This must be serious, then.

"So," Draco continues, "the Headmistress Owled me at the Manor, to inform me of your condition. You were unconscious, she said, and no one could get through to you. So I came straight over." He gives his son a reassuring smile. "You had us all quite worried there for a while."

"S-So I'm fine now?" Scorpius whispers, as quietly as he can so the Weasleys present can't hear and won't use it as an excuse to make fun of him later.

Draco looks towards the nurse for confirmation. "Yes," she says. "I still need to run a few more tests, and I'd like to keep you here under observation for another thirty-six hours, just to be on the safe side, but it looks to me that you're back to your old self."

Scorpius can't help the relieved sigh that escapes his lips. Smiling, he looks at his father, who smiles back, immense relief plain in his expression, too. 

"Er, Uncle Ha—" Hugo interjects. "I mean, Professor Potter, maybe we should head back to our dorms, now we know where Al is? Or would you like one of us to escort him back to Slytherin?"

"Not so fast, Hugo," Harry says sternly. "Now we've all seen that Scorpius' condition has significantly improved, the three of you will accompany me to my quarters. I believe it's high time we had a little chat. The four of us, and Albus, have a few things to discuss, wouldn't you say?" Harry clears his throat. "Scorpius, Ma-" He smiles oddly "Draco, if you'll excuse us?"

"Certainly," Draco says, and waves a dismissive hand.

"Bye, Professor Potter," Scorpius chimes in.

Harry gives a brief nod before ushering the children out of the room and closing the door behind him. 

~*~

"At least this solves the mystery of Scorpius' sudden rash," Harry says, folding his hands on the table in front of him. "I hope all four of you do realise how recklessly irresponsible you've behaved, administering an untested potion to someone already suffering from a serious and still unidentified ailment." He pauses meaningfully, giving everyone listening enough time to let his words sink in. "Your little experiment could have gone horribly wrong." 

Lily is the first to react. "Yes, dad," she says, smiling, "it could have done, but it didn't, and Scorpius' rash has disappeared now, too, hasn't it?"

"We couldn't sit idly by, Uncle Harry. We had to do something," Rose chimes in. "Your theories about what was happening with Scorpius were all wrong, and the nurses didn't have a clue, either."

"Had something like this happened in your school days, you would have intervened, too," Hugo says, feeling far bolder now than in the infirmary a little while ago. "You wouldn't have let it rest until you'd got to the bottom of it, either, even if that meant breaking a few rules in the process." He smiles mischievously. "And Mum would have been very insistent about following through with it to the end as well; I'd bet my entire Chocolate Frog card collection on that."

With a deep frown, Harry regards the youngsters, including Albus who has remained completely silent thus far; he's probably too proud to defend himself, or perhaps he actually agrees with Harry, but would rather not say so in front of his peers. 

Harry hesitates another beat before speaking. He isn't entirely sure how to handle this. The kids have a very good point, of course. Had Harry been a student today, undoubtedly, he would have undertaken a similar stunt, with Ron and Hermione by his side, and damn the consequences. 

Still, these are different times, a whole other set of circumstances, and Harry is a father now and a teacher, too. He mustn't encourage this type of initiative, no matter how well intended; someone might have been seriously hurt tonight, not to mention what another experimental potion might have done to poor Scorpius.

"Very well," he finally says, nodding to himself, "there will be no repercussions this time."

The four kids look relieved.

"However," he continues, his tone grave, "any such further attempts in future will land you in detention and you will also be banned from playing Quidditch for two up to six months, depending on the amount of rules broken and their individual impact on the proper running of this school and the safety of the student body."

Hugo gasps loudly, but says nothing.

"Also, regarding this particular stunt…" Harry smiles wryly. "I'm aware that, during my own school days, on a few occasions, some of us were rewarded with House points for bravery, even if said bravery had involved breaking curfew, wandering into rooms we weren't supposed to be in, extracting books from the Restricted Section… Well, you get the picture."

Lily smiles triumphantly, but not for very long.

"Nonetheless," Harry continues, "none of you will be rewarded for your actions of the past few days. You will just have to be happy with the knowledge that Scorpius will be fine, and that something that might have become a serious threat to this school and everyone it in, and perhaps even the entire wizarding world, has been successfully nipped in the bud."

"B-But Dad…." Lily begins.

Harry shakes his head. "Sorry, but I'm afraid my decision is final. I may have been reckless in my youth, extremely so, even if it wasn't entirely my own choice, but I cannot and will not condone such behaviour from my students, and I certainly won't allow any of my family to get hurt. Is that understood?"

The kids can do nothing but nod. Even Hugo is too stunned to speak. He has never seen his uncle quite this angry.

"Very well," Harry says, his voice sounding just a tad more like the late Severus Snape's than he'd prefer. "That'll be all, then. Good night and I'll see you at breakfast."

Through tired eyes, he watches the four teens leave the room, seemingly as fast as they are able.

~*~

When Harry doesn't see Draco in the Great Hall at breakfast time, he can't help but be somewhat disappointed, though at the same time, he's also mildly relieved. Amidst last night's ruckus, and Scorpius' subsequent recovery, one event was conveniently swiped under the proverbial carpet and not mentioned again; the kiss.

Even though Harry was dead tired, and the confrontation with the four adventurous students had robbed him of his last remaining energy, he'd still spent a good hour tossing and turning before finally falling asleep. He'd been unable to think of anything else; how incredibly nice it had been, but what a terrible mistake it undoubtedly was, too. 

Draco Malfoy, by all accounts, goes through paramours like Ron goes through chocolate muffins. The man isn't interested in steady relationships, merely… distractions. He practically said as much himself.

So what the devil was Harry even thinking of? This can only end in disaster. He'll get his heart broken, and if some part of Malfoy still yearns for revenge for something that occurred in their school days, when they were fierce rivals in practically every sense of the word, Harry has just handed him the perfect opportunity on a silver platter. _Merlin,_ he must have completely taken leave of his senses!

Still, none of those doubts are enough to stop Harry from wondering, and worrying, about Draco's whereabouts this morning.

Finally, rather than continuing these pointless speculations—anything from 'He went back to the Manor and took Scorpius, who was declared fit enough to travel, with him' to 'He ran straight to Skeeter to spill the beans on how Harry Potter, decorated war hero, almost failed miserably to rid Hogwarts of yet another incarnation of Voldemort' has already gone through his overactive mind—he decides to ask Professor Trelawney who's sitting next to him.

"He's with his son, Mister Potter," she replies, stirring some more sugar into her coffee. "In the hospital wing. I saw him heading there on my way here. He looked like he'd finally got some sleep." She sighs. "Poor man; this must have been a terrible ordeal for him."

Harry nods slowly. He quickly finishes his scrambled eggs and then, even though a rational voice in his head vehemently warns him against what he's about to do, he swiftly excuses himself and leaves for the hospital wing, too.

~*~

Draco and Scorpius are chatting animatedly when Harry arrives. They've just finished their breakfast—croissants with raspberry preserve, by the looks of it; how unexpectedly Muggle.

"Morning," Harry says pleasantly, announcing his presence. "Is everything all right here?"

Both Malfoys look at him with similar smiles. "It certainly is," Draco replies. "Scorpius has just told me he slept extremely well and is most eager to get back to his studies."

"Really, Father!" Scorpius interjects with a low chuckle and then adds politely, "Good morning, Professor Potter."

Harry briefly studies the grinning boy propped up against the pillows; his good mood seems genuine and he's already significantly less pale than he was the last few days. 

"Right, then," Draco says, rising from his chair, "much as I'd like to stay and chat, Potter, I'm afraid McGonagall wishes to speak with me at nine o'clock sharp. It would be very rude to keep the Headmistress waiting."

"Oh," Harry mumbles, hoping his disappointment isn't too obvious. "Right."

Draco hesitates. "We could have lunch together later on, if you'd like?" he ventures carefully. "I get the impression there is something you wish to discuss with me...."

Harry blinks. "Yes," he says, and coughs nervously. "There is."

Draco nods. "Twelve-thirty, shall we say? In my guest quarters?"

"Okay. Er…" Harry wrings his hands, just for a moment. "In the meantime, is there anything I can do to help? For Scorpius, I mean?"

"Hm." Draco smiles. "Some reading material wouldn't go amiss. It'll contribute to making the remainder of the time he still has to spend cooped up in here slightly less tedious."

"Yes," Harry says. "Yes, of course."

With a final parting nod, Draco leaves the room, while Harry sits down on the chair next to Scorpius' bed. "So, you're feeling completely like your old self again, I gather?"

If Harry knew the boy slightly better, he'd notice the look of understanding that briefly flickers over that pointy face, but all Harry sees is the polite smile that appears mere seconds later. "Yes, I'm fine, Professor Potter. Quite keen to get out of here as well."

"I'm very glad to hear that," Harry says, and returns the smile. "So, um, your dad mentioned you'd be interested in some books…"

Scorpius nods. "Yes, if there's anything I need to read up on, school work I missed during my… illness; I'd hate to fall behind…"

Harry furrows his brows in thought. "Obviously, I can't tell you much about the other subjects," he replies, "you'd have to speak with the other professors, but the Defence class you missed…" 

Harry takes a deep breath and begins to retell, including as many details as he's able, the most recent lesson he taught Scorpius' Housemates and their Gryffindor counterparts. While he's speaking, he also does his utmost to chase Draco Malfoy from his mind. He almost succeeds. 

~*~

Despite Harry's initial nervousness, lunch is a surprisingly relaxed and even pleasant affair. Of course, the wine—not too much of it, of course, just enough to take the edge off; he doesn't have any classes to teach this afternoon anyway—helps, too.

"I assume the necessary measures have been taken to keep this whole wretched business out of the papers?" Draco asks, and takes another bite off his second cucumber sandwich.

Harry nods. "If any of the students' parents were to find out about your son's condition, we'll just say it was the result of a magical mishap of some kind; no details needed. I see no reason why people would question that explanation, much less challenge it. Stranger things have happened here, after all."

"Quite." Draco smirks. "And how about that other incident? Is there anything you'd like to tell me about that?

"Other incident?" Harry parrots, confused.

"I distinctly remember you kissing me," comes the matter-of-fact reply, "after a certain junior Dark Lord bit the dust, or to be more exact, turned to dust in front of our eyes." 

"Er, you didn't exactly struggle," Harry blurts out, suddenly feeling fifteen again.

"No." Draco grins deviously. "I didn't. Would you have preferred it if I had?"

Harry shakes his head and grins back, awkwardly. The men look at each other in silence, both unsure of what to say next, until after many moments, Harry speaks again, "So, um, for how much longer will you be staying at Hogwarts?"

"Ah." Draco refills both their glasses. "That rather depends."

"On what?"

"McGonagall had a mildly tempting proposition for me."

Harry gives him a quizzical look.

"You've heard, no doubt, that Slughorn is rather keen to retire very soon?"

Harry nods.

"But not before a suitable replacement has been found, however."

"Yeah. I heard all about that. He was pretty vocal about his possible successors during last week's staff meeting as well. According to him, not a single one of the people who'd already expressed an interest was anywhere near good enough."

"Really?" Draco grins smugly. "Well, apparently, I might be the perfect solution to that particular problem."

Harry blinks. "You?"

"Hm." Draco takes a third sandwich off the tray; filled with Brie and grapes, this time. "McGonagall informed me I would be the ideal man for the job."

"Oh," Harry says, thinking this over. There is no denying that Malfoy did always achieve excellent marks at Potions, and not merely because he was Snape's favourite student. Of course, whether the man would also make a good teacher is another matter. "What do you do now, anyway?" Harry suddenly feels compelled to ask.

"Do?" Draco frowns. "About what?"

Harry chuckles. "For a living?"

"Oh." Draco shrugs. "I make certain my parents' money remains wisely invested, and I manage Scorpius' trust."

"So you don't actually… work at the moment?"

"No, Potter." Draco smiles. "I've never done an honest day's work in my entire life and I expect my father would be shocked to hear I'm seriously considering changing that in the not too distant future."

"So you're interested, then?" Harry's stomach does a little flip at the thought of Draco becoming a more permanent fixture at Hogwarts; though, on the other hand, if his feelings for the man turn out to be unrequited, this might end up being a curse rather than a blessing. 

"Perhaps," Draco replies, "but on the other hand, it's been decades since I last slaved over a cauldron. At present, I'm probably more likely than even a twelve-year-old Neville Longbottom to blow up the school."

"I'm sure you'd be back up to speed quickly," Harry says, meaning every word. "I imagine it's just like riding a bike, isn't it?" 

Draco grins that smug grin again. "I wouldn't know, Potter. I have never tested that particular means of transportation; nor am I particularly interested to do so."

Now grinning, too, Harry shakes his head, and Draco continues, "You may have a point, though. I don't suppose one really forgets these things, even though I'm probably quite a bit out of practice."

Hearing those words, Harry's expression turns solemn. "Yeah, like I was," he mumbles guiltily.

"Sorry?" Draco's expression is one of complete confusion.

"Well, that night we… dealt with the problem in the dungeons. I haven't thanked you yet, have I?" Harry gives a wan smile.

"Thanked me for what, exactly?"

"Doing the incompetent Defence Professor's job for him," Harry replies wryly. "I had no idea I'd got so…."

"Rusty?" Draco suggests.

Harry nods. "I teach the blasted subject, for Merlin's sake," he remarks, sounding as bitter as he feels, "and then a real threat came along, the first in many years, and I completely mucked up." He sighs deeply, not even sure why he's being so open with Malfoy and showing his vulnerability to him, of all people. "If it hadn't been for you being there and knowing what to do…"

Draco reaches across the table and places his left hand atop Harry's right. "Listen," he begins, his tone serious, "the reason I was so… well prepared for what happened the other night was because ever since the end of the war…. I'm not sure whether you've given the matter much thought over the course of the past few years, but for a long time, believe it or not, my family wasn't exactly popular."

Despite his glumness, Harry can't help but smile at that.

"So." Draco removes his hand from Harry's and folds both his arms in front of his chest. "My parents, and not without good reason, were quite concerned for their safety and even more so, mine."

"I see," Harry mumbles, already beginning to understand where this is going.

"So they decided I should receive special training; a kind of"—the smile he gives Harry is almost apologetic—"Defence against Dark Arts by means of other Dark Arts. Possibly not entirely legal, but very effective nonetheless."

Harry nods slowly.

"And believe me, before you start getting suspicious, none of us ever abused the knowledge; that would have been foolish given the circumstances and irresponsible overall."

Harry nods again.

"Of course"—Draco hesitates, clearly thinking twice before admitting what he says next—"I may have been irresponsible regardless."

Harry blinks. "How do you mean?"

"Father suggested I tutor Scorpius in the same way, teach the boy the same defensive magic I had been taught. Naïvely, I suppose, I assumed it wouldn't be necessary. I was convinced I could protect him from all this. So…" Draco smiles wryly. "If you feel I was making up for some kind of failure when I helped you vanquish… _him_, it was my failure I was attempting to correct, not yours, Harry."

Harry's eyes widen at the use of his first name while the raw sincerity in Draco's words makes his stomach flutter. "So, um," he says, deciding to steer the conversation back to a more neutral subject, "you're seriously considering taking McGonagall up on her offer?"

As if the difficult exchange never even took place, Draco smirks. "Careful, Potter," he says, "I might start thinking you actually want me here."

Harry swallows hard. "What if were to tell you I do?" he manages, and silently congratulates himself for not tripping over his words.

"Hm." Draco pretends to think that over for a few moments before he replies, "I'd say things must have changed, then, but only for the better."

Harry doesn't know how to reply to that, or whether he's even interpreting the situation correctly. He was never terribly good at socialising and it's been ages since he was last romantically interested in anyone other than his now ex-wife, too. Is Malfoy actually flirting with him? The dazzling smile Harry then finds directed at himself, so unlike any other smile, smirk or grin Draco has ever given him before, answers that question. 

Harry's stomach does that strange fluttery thing again. Taken aback, he almost misses Draco's next question. 

"More wine, Potter?"

~*~

"Then there's also…" Lily frowns, wrapped up in thought for a moment, and then sighing deeply. "No, sorry, this very moment, I can't remember the title of that one, which is rather ridiculous considering how I'm able to picture the cover quite vividly. It's been a long day for all of us, I guess. Anyway, I'll bring it along later. You'll love it, I promise. It's about dragons. You like dragons, don't you?"

Scorpius is clearly overwhelmed, but smiles and nods eagerly, regardless.

"Yes, of course you do," Lily rambles on. "Everyone likes fictional dragons; the real ones, not so much, my Uncle Charlie always says, but then some of them are incredibly dangerous, so that's probably for the best."

Seeing the display in front of him as he enters the room, Draco shakes his head in amusement. He pointedly clears his throat to make his presence known. 

"Oh." Unfazed, Lily smiles at him. "Good evening, Mister Malfoy. I was just saying hello to Scorpius. He'll need some more books for later. He has already devoured the others I brought him, and everything he had to read for his classes, too. He's a very fast reader, you know."

"Yes. I am fully aware of that, young lady."

"Of course you are." She grins. "Silly me." She leaps up from her chair. "See you later, Scorp. I'll be back after dinner, with some more things for you to read; at least it's only for one more night, right? Then you can go back to you dorm. Bye, Mister Malfoy. Have a lovely evening."

"Likewise, Miss Potter."

Once the girl has left, Draco saunters closer to the bed, and with one eyebrow raised in amusement, says, "_Scorp?_"

Scorpius shrugs. "Lily has this strange habit of shortening everyone's name, Father. It's no big deal; doesn't mean anything."

"I see." Draco takes a seat. "Tell me," he continues. "If this isn't too indiscreet a question, would I be correct in assuming you like her, Scorpius?"

"She's all right," Scorpius replies noncommittally. "So, yes, I suppose you could say I like her."

"Ah?"

"Hm." Scorpius picks up the book that's lying on the bedside table next to him, and glances at the back cover before he looks back up at his father and remarks, ever so casually, "Not nearly as much as you like her dad, though."

As a rule, Draco Malfoy hates it with a passion when someone gets one up him, and he probably always will. 

This rule doesn't apply to Scorpius, however. In fact, his son's cheek only ever makes Draco laugh. Today is no exception. The happy sound, one only his nearest and dearest ever get to hear, bounces off the bare walls and makes the room seem somehow lighter.

"Tell me," he then says, a few minutes later, and completely serious again, "and please, do answer honestly…"

"All right," Scorpius says, looking somewhat puzzled. 

"Well, son," Draco continues, "would it bother you if…"

Scorpius frowns. "What?" he wagers a guess. "If you were to start a liaison with my Defence Professor?"

"Ah. Well." Draco smiles. "I fear there may be more to it than merely a casual liaison; assuming, of course, that things turn out the way I think they might, and also assuming, there exist no reasons why I shouldn't allow them to."

For a moment, Scorpius hesitates, giving the information adequate time to sink in, but soon he beams a happy smile at his father. "To be fully honest," he replies, "I think you becoming involved with someone might actually be a good thing. I don't mean to be rude, but…"

Draco raises a questioning eyebrow. "But…?"

"Well, you're not getting any younger, Father. Not"—Scorpius gives a pacifying smile—"that you're anywhere near old, of course; perish the thought. All I mean to say is, you deserve someone who genuinely makes you happy, someone you can rely on, and Professor Potter…"

"Yes?"

"Well, the two of you share a long history, and I always had the impression that long ago, you impacted one another's lives in a way that was profound and permanent."

Draco's eyes widen. "Did you, now?"

Scorpius nods. "So, what I'm trying to say, the bottom line is that I wouldn't mind at all."

Draco smiles, somewhat hesitantly. "That's very good to know. Of course…"

"Yes?"

"We mustn't get ahead of ourselves; let's see what happens first, if anything… In the meantime, I can trust you not to discuss this with anyone, I presume? Including your little bookworm friend?"

"Really, Father." Scorpius grins. "What do you take me for? I shan't mention it to a soul."

"Good lad."

"But…" Scorpius frowns.

"Yes?"

"There's still more, isn't there, Father? Something else you need to tell me?"

Draco smiles. "There's no sneaking past you. All right, very well… The Headmistress has offered me the position of Potions Professor and, subsequently, Head of Slytherin House."

Scorpius' jaw drops. "Poor Slughorn hasn't gone and snuffed it, has he?"

Draco can't help but chuckle at that. "No. However, he is hoping to retire very soon, and someone will need to replace him."

"I see." Scorpius gives his father a questioning look, urging him to continue.

"So, I'm presently considering the offer; seriously considering it."

Scorpius nods slowly. "It would be quite a change, Father," he says carefully. It's only a statement, as far as Draco can tell, with no particular emotions attached to it.

"Yes," he replies, "but perhaps a change might be just the ticket."

Scorpius smiles. "They do say nothing is meant to stay the same forever."

"Quite."

For a long while after that, not another word is spoken while both Malfoys are lost in their own thoughts, with one thing at the forefront of their minds, the future and whatever it may bring.

~*~

A fairly uneventful week passes. 

Scorpius, as expected, has made a full recovery and aside from some lingering rumours here and there, including a few extremely creative ones regarding Draco Malfoy's continued presence at Hogwarts, life at the castle is almost back to normal, or whatever may be considered normal at a school for wizardry and witchcraft.

Gazing out over the lake during one of the afternoon strolls that have become a daily routine since his son was discharged from the hospital wing, Draco once again weighs the pros and cons of accepting McGonagall's offer. 

After a few days of serious consideration, he must admit the pros largely outnumber the cons; in fact, he can't find any valid reasons why he shouldn't jump at the chance, especially since the idea of becoming the new Potions Professor has really grown on him. 

Back at the Manor, everything is under control. The elves seem perfectly capable of holding their own, and any business he needs to attend to personally, he can just as easily manage from Hogwarts.

Furthermore, Draco can't shake the feeling that accepting the position would have made Severus Snape extremely proud of him.

Sighing, he kicks a wayward pebble into the lake—funny, he thinks, how there always seems to be an unlimited supply of pebbles lying around—in the same way he so often did when he used to come out here during his student days. Even after all these years, thinking about Severus Snape, his old teacher and dear friend, fills him with a sadness like no other. Not a day goes by where he doesn't miss the man who was more of a father and a far better mentor to him than Lucius could have ever hoped to be.

Perhaps taking this post would be a way of honouring the man's memory, or at least a better, more personal way than St. Mungo's new 'Severus Snape' wing that Lucius' money had paid for. The construction had been all Narcissa's idea and in truth, Draco imagines Severus would have snarked loudly at the gesture. _"How perfectly fitting for such a well-known humanitarian such as myself."_ Or something similarly sarcastic. 

Of course, there were times when Severus nagged from dawn 'till dusk about everything from boisterous students to the British weather, though there were also occasions where those harsh words were clearly only spoken to conceal other feelings, such as sadness and regret, a large chunk of it involving Lily Evans.

_Harry Potter's mother._ Draco sighs again. Did Severus really do it all for her sake, years of spying and even laying down his life in the end, whatever it took to protect the woman's son, in some desperate attempt to make up for the terrible way in which their friendship ended? With one badly chosen insult… It's strange sometimes how quickly even the strongest bonds can crumble.

_Potter._ Draco smiles wryly. That nicely brings him to another reason for wanting to take the job. Not the main reason, he assures himself, but definitely one of the deciding factors.

Draco spent most of his schooldays obsessed with Potter. He was bitter about Potter's painful rejection and jealous at the attention Potter received from all and sundry, he seethed over Potter's vastly superior Quidditch skills and then came fifth year, Lucius' imprisonment, the hell that was sixth year and finally, that incident in the bathroom. Potter almost killed him, even though, as everyone would assure him later, it was an accident. 

Draco shudders when he remembers the excruciating pain and all that blood, his blood dripping on the floor and soaking his clothes. Neither he nor Potter has mentioned that night since, not in the last few days either, and perhaps, he decides, that's for the best. Let bygones be bygones. What happened was decades ago; they were barely sixteen, their nerves were shattered and they had to carry far too much responsibility on their shoulders. They were lucky to get out alive.

If only he'd known back then how he'd feel about Potter today.

Draco shakes his head. There is no use in dwelling on the past. It's the future he must focus on, Scorpius' and his own.

Nodding to himself, he turns on his heel. Determinedly, he strides back to the castle, finally ready to give Headmistress McGonagall his answer.

~*~

Harry cuts his juicy steak into small, bite-sized pieces and chances another peek at Draco Malfoy, who—rather inconveniently, in Harry's opinion—is sitting at the other end of the teachers' table. 

This past week, the two of them have had lunch together every day. Only lunch, however, much to Harry's fast-growing impatience, and nothing beyond pleasant conversations and a bit of innocent flirting has thus far occurred. Still, this very moment, Harry would prefer to be talking to Draco, too, rather than sit here listening to Aurora Sinistra and Sybil Trelawney's seemingly endless discussion about Mercury aligning with Mars and the possible significance thereof.

McGonagall loudly taps her glass with her spoon, almost causing Harry to drop the fork he's lifting to his mouth. "May I have your attention, please, everyone?" she says. "I have two important announcements to make."

Almost instantly, a hush settles over the Great Hall. Harry holds his breath. Again, he sneaks a glance at Draco, who now has an enigmatic smile on his face. _So, does this mean…?_

"Firstly and foremost," McGonagall begins, "at the end of this school year, we will be bidding farewell to Professor Horace Slughorn, who after many years of being of invaluable service to this school, has decided to retire."

All eyes turn towards the elderly Professor and some students, mostly Slytherins and Hufflepuffs, give him a polite round of applause. Slughorn, for his part, smiles widely, clearly basking in the attention.

"Of course," McGonagall continues once the occupants of the Hall have settled down again, "his departure means that come September, we will be welcoming a new member of staff." She pauses, and Harry fears his heart might leap out of his chest at her next words. "Mister Draco Malfoy, with whom, I'm certain, some of you are already acquainted, has graciously accepted to become our new Potions Professor and Head of Slytherin House."

"Well, bugger me!" Hugo Weasley exclaims inappropriately and far too loud, but luckily, his words get lost in the exuberant round of applause that follows. Even Lily is cheering. Scorpius grins from ear to ear, and continues to do so even when Gardenia Goyle slaps him on the back a little too roughly for comfort. 

Out of nowhere, a small paper crane lands next to Harry's plate. He's the only one who notices; everyone else is too focused on trying to process what they have just been told. Draco Malfoy isn't exactly popular, but he does have a certain notoriety that makes him renowned and therefore, rather interesting. The general consensus, though no student present dares mention it, is that Draco Malfoy will make a far more engaging teacher than a stuffy old geezer like Slughorn. 

Curious though not completely surprised, Harry unfolds the note. 

_"Astronomy Tower. Midnight."_

Harry smiles. He meets the questioning gaze of the man sitting at the other end of the table and nods.

~*~

Somewhere in a nearby distance, an antique clock strikes twelve. 

Harry hurries up the stairs, all the way wondering why tonight, of all nights, all of a sudden, everyone seemed to want to talk to him, even Albus. It took forever before he was finally able to find an opening to excuse himself. There wasn't even any time left to get changed out of his school robes into something more casual and appealing. _How does Hermione call this type of situation again? Ah yes, Murphy's Law._

No matter. He won't be too late, or at least not by more than a few minutes. Malfoy will have waited that long, surely?

Once arrived in the Tower room, slightly rattled with a hint of dizziness from running the last thirty or so steps, he lets a sigh of relief escape when he spots the tall, slim silhouette leaning against the windowpane.

"H-Hi," Harry manages. "S-Sorry I'm late; had quite a bit of trouble, getting away."

Malfoy turns around and smiles a genuine smile. "So," he says, sauntering towards Harry, a both devious and determined look on his face, "it would seem you'll be stuck with me, come September, for heaven knows how long. That is, assuming I survive the next few months of Slughorn showing me the ropes, or reacquainting me with the ropes, whichever the case may be, but I don't anticipate that being much of a problem, do you?"

"No," Harry says, not needing to think it over, "I'm sure you'll do, um, just great. So you'll be moving out of the guest quarters and into your own rooms soon?" Harry doesn't even know why he asks. He isn't particularly interested in Draco's living arrangements, but he supposes this is one way of making friendly conversation whilst neatly circumventing the one thing he really wishes to talk about.

"I'll be taking Slughorn's quarters at some point in August," Malfoy replies, not sounding terribly interested in the topic, either, "but for the time being, I'll remain where I am. The Slytherin guest lodgings are more than adequate, quite comfortable, in fact. I will be having some more of my things sent over from the Manor, however, and one of my personal elves, too. After all, I'll be spending most of my time here until the summer holidays." He pauses a beat, and then continues, obviously thinking aloud, "Though I expect there will be a few occasions where I shall be required to make an appearance at Gringott's; I very much doubt whether one of the gnomes would be willing to come down here. And, of course, at one point, my parents will have to be told about my new career…" He grins. "My first ever proper career, no less. I assume I'd best break the news to them in person."

Harry grins, too. "Yeah. Lucius' reaction is bound to be…"

"Loud and colourful?" Draco suggests.

"At the very least." Harry chuckles and then ventures carefully, his tone serious once more and now carrying a nervous edge, too, "So, er, the fact that you've agreed to take the job, does that mean you'll be, er…" Harry falls silent, unsure how to continue.

Draco raises an eyebrow. "Yes?"

"Look." Harry runs a hand through his hair. He can't decide on the best way to ask the question that's been haunting him for days, so he supposes he might as well throw the whole truth out there, and wait and see how it lands. "The only people I've ever been involved with—seriously, I mean—were Cho (well, sort of, I fancied her like mad anyway; not sure she felt the same way about me, though) and Ginny. I had a massive crush on Oliver Wood, too, years ago, but he…" Harry shrugs. "Well, he married Katie Bell in the end, didn't he? They have two kids, twins, a boy and a girl; they're in second year now, both of them Gryffindors."

Draco only nods.

"Anyway," Harry continues, "ever since you came here for Scorpius, the two of us… I mean…" Harry pauses, lost for words. He doesn't know what Malfoy is planning to do, what Malfoy even wants to do, or what any of this means. There has been a lot of flirting between them, but then, Harry realises, Draco acts in the exact same way around many other people. The man is an incorrigible flirt. Since his arrival, he has even made Trelawney giggle a few times, which, admittedly is rather disturbing on a vast number of levels. 

"Listen," Draco says, sounding completely serious despite his playful smile, "I realise I have built up something of a philandering reputation since my divorce, so I can understand perfectly why you might be… questioning the nature of my intentions towards you."

Harry nods slowly.

"But the men the papers speak of, or rather, used to speak of they didn't mean a thing to me. This"—he gestures between them—"on the other hand…"

Harry swallows. He wouldn't be surprised if, any minute now, his hammering heart were to burst right through his ribcage.

"I won't lie to you," Draco continues. "I've wanted to be your friend for a long time. When we first met, well…" He grins. "I messed up abysmally, went about it all the wrong way. I see that now, and in hindsight, who know? Perhaps that was for the best. Weasley and Granger—sorry, Weasley and Weasley now—mightn't be my kind of people, but they were always invaluable to you."

"Still are," Harry mutters.

"Yes," Draco replies quickly. "Yes, of course, but my point is… You've always held a prominent place in my life in some capacity or another, whether it was as my rival, the boy who saved my life despite our history, or that one missed opportunity I thought of far too often."

Harry swallows hard.

"And while I may have been quite casual in my flings of late, I have never been anything but one hundred percent dedicated to my relationships, Harry. I did my utmost to make my marriage with Astoria work, if only for Scorpius' sake, but obviously…" He gives a wan smile.

At the use of his given name, Harry feels a shiver run up and down his spine. The word sounds so different, almost precious, when Draco says it, and Harry doesn't even care about the sappiness of that particular conclusion. "So, um, Draco," he mutters, "you and me, um…"

"To answer the question I assume you're attempting to ask, yes, I would very much like to pursue this… whatever it is that seems to be developing between us."

Harry lets out a relieved breath. "Me too," he whispers and takes one step closer, to instigate the kiss he has been longing for all week.

This time, there are no interruptions.

*


End file.
